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Letters 



Price, 50 Cents. 



RECEIVED IN MY 



Two Widow-Hoods 



f^ 1 ^^'' 7 




By AVERELLE LOUTHOOD. 



NEW YORK: 
MYRTLE PUBLISHING COMPANY. 



LETTERS RECEIVED 

IN MY 

TWO WIDOW-HOODS. 



If words 
Were birds 
And swiftly flew 
From tips 
To lips 
Owned dear 

By you 
Would they 
To-day 
Be doves 
Of love? 
Yes! 



WITH PORTRAITS. «q(^^£,- 



Vs^ 



By averelle lolthood. 



IT- 



A\YPTLE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
NEW YORK. 






r.f^^^ 



Copyright, 1896, 
By HoRTON John Gh^son. 



cK 



/vvYv</^M , 



^n^ 



NTRODUCTION 



Having read Marie Bashkirtseff' s Letters, I 
thought to mj/self, why should not my letters, re- 
ceived during my two widow-hoods, be of interest? 

The Bashkirtseff letters are those of a school- 
girl; mine are to a woman, and they show how 
much, even in this nineteenth century, a woman can 
be thought of, admired and loved. They also show 
that all women do not, as men think, grasp at the 
first offer of marriage. 

I have never read a book of this kind, nor have 
I ever heard of just such a compilation. The new 
"Abelard,*' like the old, was a mere brain-child, 
"Clarinda" high-strung, the Lytton letters childish, 
the Piozzi case an affair of second childhood. Those 
who might have given such a work to the world may 
have been deterred, either by the feeling that such 
"human documents" would not attract, or by scru- 
ples on the score of honor. There is, however, no 
real violation of confidence in my case, as I have 
substituted aliases for actual names. 

That these letters may interest and help to while 
a few hours away is the wish of. 

Cordially yours, 

ALICE. 




Alice, sweet Alice, so smiling her face, 

Love basks in her beauty, her exquisite grace; 

Ideal her eyes are, bewitching and bright. 

'Carissima mea!" I live in her light, 

Earth having no charms with her form not in sight 





An^>^^^ -"^^^^'^''^''^ 



/^'c 



CU- 



HAST THOU A FRIEND. 



Hast thou a friend? Oh, hold him fast, 

Fling not his hand away: 

Thou of a treasure art possessed 

Thou'lt not find every day. 

Oh, let no hasty word or look 

Blot out his name from memory's book! 

A friend! to man the noblest gift 

That heaven has in its power. 

Stronger than death, and yet — most strange! — 

Feebler than frailest flower; 

For that which braved the storm severe 

May yet be blighted by a sneer! 

He may have errors — who has not? 

Who dares perfection claim? 

God gave thy friend some worthy parts — 

Fix all thy heart on them! 

His virtues rightly drawn, I ween. 

His faults in shade will not be seen! 

If thou wouldst keep thy friend thine own, 

Be open — be sincere! 

What thou unto thyself art known, 

That to thy friend appear. 

'Twixt him and thee have no disguise; 

In this true friendship's secret lies. 

Thou hast a friend! oh, hold him fast: 

Fling not his hand away. 

Thou of a treasure art possessed 

That's not found every day. 

Oh, let no hasty word or look 

Biol thy friend's name from thy heart's book. 



TABIvE OI^ CONTENTS. 



FIRST WIDOW-HOOD. 

PAGE. 

Introduction, 3 

Poem ' ' Hast Thou a Friend, " 5 

From Robert, 9 

From B , : 45 

From Ollie, 46 

From Leon, 48 

From Doctor B , 102 

From Theodore, 103 

From L , 108 

From B , 108 

From C , 109 

From E , 113 

From F , 113 

From E , "3 

From W^infred, 122 

From Paul, 124 

From Seth, 127 

From Neville, 127 

From George, 128 

From Jack, 129 

From Lemont, ^3^ 



TABLE OF CONTENTS,— Continued. 

SECOND WIDOW-HOOD. page. 

Poem "Last Night," 147 

From Robert, 148 

From Leon, 148 

From Theodore, . 150 

From Seth, 160 

From Your Friend, l6i 

From F , 167 

From Winfred's Brother, 167 

From B. B , 1 70 

From Leonard, 1 74 

From Basil, 190 

From L. L. , 203 

From Bob, 204 

From Nap, 209 

From Dave, 213 

From Will, 218 

From Harold, 219 

From M. Harris, 229 

From Dey, 230 

From Fred, 254 

From D , 257 

From Nell, 258 

From X , 266 

From Bob, 267 

From T , 271 

From J , ' 272 

From M , 273 

From C , 274 

From G , 279 

From J , 283 

From F , 284 

From L , 285 

From 8 Years Old, 286 

From E , 287 

From L , 288 

From Jean, 294 

From C , 295 

From Your Friend, 297 



LETTERS RECEIVED 

IN MY 

TWO WIDOW- HOODS 



New York, July 23d. 
My dear Alice: — 

Y^our two letters — one from Montreal and one 
from Three Rivers — are received, the last one to-day, 
and glad was I to get them and learn of your safe 
arrival and your very kind and hospitable reception 
at Three Rivers. 

I do not see, dear one, how any one who knows 
you could receive you otherwise and so I cannot say 
I am at all surprised, but nevertheless it is pleasant to 
hear how others do treat you and to find you are wel- 
come and loved wherever you go. Don't let those 
complimentary speeches of the gentlemen turn your 
head. 

My friend, keep cool and discreet, and that I feel 
sure you will. I am going to start for Cape May to- 
morrow, but the great railroad strike that is extending 
all over the country makes it doubtful whether we 
could get there or get anywhere we wanted to, and so 
our plans are all at sixes and sevens. 

We shall probably go somewhere to-morrow and 
as soon as I get anywhere will write you how to direct 
your next letter. The weather has been very warm 
and oppressive since you left, but I have been quite 
well so far. Do not worry for me, my dear one, I shall 



10 

take good care of myself and await your return as 
patiently as possible though you may be sure of one 
thing — that you are missed and that New York is not 
the same place without your sweet, bright face, and I 
don't care how soon September comes and brings you 
back again. 

I did not write you at Montreal for the reason that 
I thought it possible you might not remain ther^. 

Good bye, give my kind regards to your mother, 
who has my best wishes for her health and happiness, 
and believe me 

Ever your own 

Robert. 

I sent you a Graphic to-day containing a picture 
of the hotel at St. Albans and other interesting illustra- 
tions, one of an old fellow with a young wife and 
what follows. 



Cape May, July 26th. 
I wrote you, my dear Alice, from New York the 
day before I left, acknowledging receipt of two letters 
and saying I was going to Long Branch. I went there 
the next day, going down the bay in a steamboat and 
getting to the hotel to tea. The hotels are well filled; 
at the one where we are stopping one of the colored 
waiters at the table asked me if he had not seen me in 
Savannah last winter at the Palaska House. It appears 
he was a waiter there. We came on next day to this 
place, not intending to remain at Long Branch, which 
1 never liked much. We had a rather tedious time com- 
ing down here, hot, dusty and slow arriving at about 
seven o'clock. The hotel we first went to we did not 
like and changed this morning to Congress Hall, one 
of the best here. The beach is splendid and the bath- 
ing very fine and safe, as the shore shelves off very 
gradually. There were a multitude of bathers in the 
water this morning and we shall probably try it to- 
morrow, some of us at least. I wish there was one 



ft 

more here to be of our party. Can you guess who? 
The moon last night was beautiful, and I went down 
to the beach alone after ten o'clock and gazed at the 
rolling billows and the shining silvery moon and 
thought of one seven hundred miles away. I wonder 
if she was thinking of me. Perhaps so, if she was 
awake and not entertaining some other friend. We 
have music at this house morning and evening, and I 
believe frequent hops. A vocal concert occurs this 
evening. I shall walk on the beach again and make 
the most of the moonlight while it lasts; concerts can 
be heard in New York. 

Write me, dear, and tell me what you have been 
doing these lovely evenings and how you are, and 
whether you are enjoying yourself among friends so 
kind. I think you cannot help but be passing your 
time pleasantly. This watering place is filled chiefly 
with Philadelphians (Philadelphia is, I believe, only 
about 80 miles distant); many of them have cottages 
here of their own where they reside several months. The 
great railroad strike appears to be somewhat subsiding 
and it will, we hope, soon come to an end as we may wish 
to go elsewhere. For the present, however, we shall 
probably stay here, and on receipt of this letter I want 
you to write me, directing as you did last, but to this 
place. Cape May, New Jersey. 

Ever your 

Robert. 



Cape May, July 29th. 
Sunday afternoon. 
This is my third letter to you, my dear Alice. 
Your number three I have not yet received, but shall 
look for it about Wednesday next, as my second 
epistle, telling you where to write me, will, I think, 
reach you to-day or to-morrow. We have now been 
in this place since Wednesday, long enough to judge 
pretty well as to whether it suits us, and we find it 



1^ 

exceedingly pleasant. You may remember my telling 
you we were here a few days some years ago, but that 
was at the close of the season when about every one 
had gone home. Now the town and hotels are over- 
flowing, this and the next week being considered as the 
culminating weeks of the season. I have gone into 
the bathing business, going in the third time this morn- 
ing. The water was quite warm, the many hundreds 
in the surf presenting quite a lively spectacle. All 
kinds, lean, graceful and awkward. Many of the ladies 
wear stockings, whether because of homely feet, bun- 
ions or modesty I cannot say, perhaps because of all 
these. The last time I went into the surf was at Rye 
Beach, New Hampshire, where the water was very 
cold, and I was so dizzy and exhausted after coming 
out that I almost determined never to try it again. 
But here, I think, it is doing me good, and I shall prob- 
ably follow it up as long as we stay here. 

The beach is a splendid one to ride on, and we had 
one good, long ride on it. The day passes without 
tediousness when one gets the right idea how to spend 
it. I breakfast about 8 o'clock, sit on the piazza and 
listen to the band, which is a good one — Bernstein's of 
New York — for an hour or so, bathe at 12, dine at 2, 
music again at 5, supper at 7, music again at 8, and 
there is generally a concert or something of the sort 
in the evening, commencing at about half-past nine 
after the band stops playing. The day's programme 
can be varied by riding and sailing. We have had two 
rides, but no sails as yet. There is one other pleasure 
for me every day which nobody else here has — thinking 
of a sweet, bright, lovely and loved friend far away 
from here to whom I am now writing and whose 
presence here would double my happiness. Can you 
guess who that dear friend of mine is, Alice? Thev 
take every morning a photograph of the people on the 
piazza when the band ceases playing. I have appeared 
in two and shall get a copy of the last one to-morrow 
and will send you the best of the two if either appears 



13 

to be good enoiigli to make it worth while, and I am 
going to send you also a little box of what they call 
here Cape May diamonds, being little, semi-transparent 
pebbles picked up on the beach. We rode over to the 
beach where they are found about five miles distant. 
They call it Diamond Beach, and I took pains to get 
some of the very prettiest ones there for you. There 
are white and colored ones also, but the transparent 
ones only are the diamonds. They tell me they can be 
cut and are really (}uite brilliant; one person said 
nearly as lustrous as real diamonds, but of that I have 
great doubts. The people here seem to be sensible 
sort of folks, very little loud dressing, and I have not 
seen one rouged face. Such there may be here, but 
they are not at Congress Hall. Would you like to 
have the Graphic sent to you while in Canada? Please 
say when you write. I had a headache for two or three 
days after getting here, but am now feeling very well. 
I hope you and your mother are enjoying yourselves 
and are well. 

With my best regards to your mother, 
Ever yours, 

Robert. 

P. S. — The Cape May diamonds will be sent by 
next mail. 



Cape May, August 2d. 

I am just in receipt of your letter of the 29th 
(Sunday), my dear Alice, and am happy to hear that 
you are well and passing your time away pleasantly. 

Since last writing you — on the 29th — I have sent 
you some Cape May pebbles and a package of stere- 
oscopic views of this place by mail, and a couple of 
mems and papers, all of which I hope may reach you 
in safety. 

We are having to-day an easterly storm which is 
nulling in the breakers on the beach in magnificent 
fashion. How I wish vou were here to see them and 



14 

me. You would don your water-proof and we would 
start out into the rain together, walk up and down the 
ocean shore and talk things over. How much better 
we could do it than write, my dear. 

I send you with this a bill of fare — mine of yester- 
day. You will see I continue to live. I believe I have 
not told you that this hotel is carried on by the same 
man who conducts Willards at Washington, and you 
know he keeps a good one. I continue to bathe every 
day and am careful of myself — don't go out very far 
and stay in but a short time, so that when I come 
out I don't feel at all chilly or fatigued, and it agrees 
with me. We were to have sack-races, pole climbing, 
foot and hurdle races this afternoon, as you will see 
by the programme of sports for the week I sent you 
in the paper, but the weather compels a postponement. 
Do you remember the afternoon of similar amuse- 
ments at St. Augustine? I guess you do. I think 
you are wise in getting the new black silk; it is much 
cheaper or ought to be in Canada than Xew York, 
and it is always useful. You say, my dear, you dream 
of me so often. ^ly dreams of you are in the day time 
and many times a day. The third week of our separa- 
tion is now coming on, and we shall presently be on 
the last half of it, and then — and then — 

I should have liked so well to see you dressed in 
your blue suit for church, but my imagination must 
supply your image as you then looked. Mrs. R — 
is right about that mouth of yours. There is none 
prettier, and in this hotel there is none half so sweet 
to my mind. We have not yet decided how long to 
remain here, but shall do so for a while yet, and I will 
write you in time to change my address when we con- 
clude where to go. Meantime write me every three 
days or so; to-day I am going to write to the Graphic 
people in Xew York to send it to your address daily 
for two months, so it ought to begin to reach you 
within a day or two after this letter and your mother 
will have the benefit of it after you return home. 



15 

The card of this hotel which I enclose herein will 
give you. perhaps, a better idea of the house as to its 
location by the sea than any of the views I sent you. 
The little cabins by the beach are bath-houses. If your 
friends do not happen to have a stereoscope you will 
have to buy one to look at your views with. The 
storm is now clearing, and I hear a great shouting 
on the lawn which gives me an idea that some of the 
promised games may be in progress after all. So I 
guess I will bid you good bye once more and with 
kind regards to your mother remain 

Ever your own 

Robert. 



Cape May. X. J.. August 4th. 

Saturday evening. lo^ o'clock. 

There is a ball here to-night, dear, and as it is free, 

all creation are at it: it is in the dining-room, a view 

of which I sent you, and I have left it and come into 

my own room to sit down and write to you, my friend. 

In acknowledging your letter written on the 29th of 

July, Sunday, I did not speak of the little plant "Love 

in a mist," which you sent me. It came safe and is 

safe, and love in a mist is much better than no love 

at all. I continue to bathe every day and probably 

shall till we leave. I don't see any gain in tiesh so far. 

1 but perhaps that will come when we get away 

I from the salt water. In the views of groups which 

I sent you. did you find me? I was in them both. The 

, glare of the sun on the beach and water is so great 

' here that many persons wear colored eye-glasses and 

spectacles. I have a pair and find them a great com- 

I fort, being a great relief to the eyes. For the last 

I few days there has been a great visitation of mosqui- 

' toes and at one of the large hotels they have been so 

I bad that the people have been compelled to leave. Our 

I house stands a little hicfher and is not so near low-land 



and has not been so bad. This is Saturday night and 



i6 

the afternoon train brought in great numbers of visi- 
tors. Many were turned away from here. They come 
in many cases just to spend Sunday. For the next 
two w^eks the crowd will be pretty well maintained 
and then will begin to dwindle, and by the first of Sep- 
tember the large hotels close. Your valued letter of 
Tuesday, the 31st, I got this afternoon and it was very 
welcome, you may be sure. It seems a long time to 
me as it does to you since you left, and the days don't 
skip along very lively. I am very sorry to hear of Mr. 
R.'s sickness and trust he may recover. In case he 
does not and his wife is really desirous to have you 
remain with her, I see no reason why you should not 
do so till you have made your visit out at least, and 
then, of course, you will go to Mrs. L. on the 
visit she invited you to pay her. I do not believe, 
my dear, I shall get back to New York much before 
September 15th. It is very warm usually there until 
then. Do not be impatient. The last half of the time 
will glide away more rapidly than the first and then 
again, perhaps, I can manage to have you join us 
somewhere before our return to New York. I do not 
know whether this can be accomplished, but nothing 
would make me happier if it could be done. You tell 
me you go looking for eggs every morning, won't 
you take me with you, my dear? Do so in your 
thoughts at least. We shall probably leave here by 
Friday, the loth, and go to Philadelphia for two or 
three days. I will write you again from here and also 
fi om there. Do not write me here again. 

Yours ever, 

Robert. 



Cape May, N. J., August 8th. 

I wrote you, my dear, on the 5th, and yesterday 

received yours of the 2d, which I was not sorry to get. 

I see you do have lots of company and cannot well be 

lonely for lack of that. If Mr. B. and sister, the musi- 



17 

cians, take you in hand, I expect you will be warbling 
Italian operatic airs the day long when you return to 
New York in place of the Dutch ballads which you 
used to sing among the mocking birds last winter in 
the sunny South. I am extremely happy to hear that 
you did not go riding with Willie F. the other day 
when his horse ran away, and don't you go at all with 
him if that is the sort of horses he drives. You will 
be jumping out and breaking your precious neck, or 
getting thrown out and killed or hurt. Do not, on 
any account, my dear one, ride behind any horse not 
known to be perfectly gentle and safe. I was sorry 
to hear you could not have me come on Saturday, but 
had to make the best of it and stay here. Perhaps some 
other Saturday when the rush of company is over, you 
may be able to scjueeze out one little Saturday for me. 
You will try one of those days, won't you? I hear of 
the picture of a man my friend loves set in a gold 
frame and am asked to guess who he can possibly 
be. I see a pair of beautiful soft brown eyes gazing 
at that picture and wish they were right before my 
own this moment, and if they were, I would tell the 
lady who owns them, who the man she loves and gazes 
at in the picture is, and if I thought she would not 
object, I might give her a kiss, or two, or three, or 
ever so many. Tell your friends at Three Rivers that 
the 1 5th of September will be the extreme limit of your 
stay and that you may have to leave on or soon after 
the 1st. You cannot be spared longer than the 15th, 
nor so long as that if it can be helped. 

We are having pretty cool weather here now, com- 
fortable and no mosquitoes. The water is quite warm 
and the bathers are in every day from 12 to i in great 
numbers. We remain here till Monday, the 13th, and 
shall then go to Philadelphia, where we shall stay two 
or three days and then go on to some other place of 
resort. As soon as I know where it will be, I shall 
write you. Meantime I shall get your letter I spoke 
about in my last while in Philadelphia. I received a 



i8 

letter from my sister to-day. She is unhappy and 
lonely as indeed she almost always is. I wish she had 
a better faculty to make herself happy and contented, 
but that will probably never be. 

You say you would be happy to receive the Argus. 
Don't you mean the Graphic? If not you will be dis- 
appointed, as the Graphic is the paper you are prob- 
ably now getting. 

I think there are some ladies who might call a 
Graphic an Argus without drinking anything stronger 
than tea or coffee and am glad to believe you are one 
of them. I hope A. and your mother are well and en- 
joying themselves. 

Ever yours, 

Robert. 



Congress Hall. 
Cape May, August 8th. 
I wrote' you this morning, dear Alice, and now 
wish to add a word. When you receive this send me 
a letter to Delaware Water Gap, Pennsylvania. I 
don't know how long we shall stay there, but write 
me there every three days until you hear from me. 
Nothing new since my last, except a very warm day. 

Yours ever, 

Robert. 



Congress Hall. 
Cape May, N. J., August 9th. 
This is my last letter to you, my dear Alice, from 
Cape ]\Iay, as we leave on Monday. Yes, to-day your 
welcome letter of the 4th reached me, and glad was I 
10 get it. I see you have courage enough to ride be- 
hind Willie F.'s horse. If he is at all in the habit of 
running away it seems to me an unwise risk, as there 
are plenty of gentle horses, and no lady should ever 
ride behind any other, as they are sure to jump out 



19 

when the animal is at full speed and break their lovely 
little necks, and yonr neck is too dear, to at least one 
person, to risk it being broken. Therefore be careful 
of it and don't risk it with a runaway horse. 

The sample of silk you enclose looks like a good 
article, and it ought to be cheap at the price you paid. 
I have no doubt you are having it made up becom- 
ingly and only wish I was where I could pass judgment 
on it the first time you wear it. But we cannot in this 
world have things just as we would like them and the 
better plan is to be grateful for the happiness we do 
have rather than repine over what we don't have. There 
I is always something to fret about if we look for it. The 
' bill of fare you send me of your dinner is a very nice 
' one, good enough for anybody, and doubtless relished 
I better than hotel food which is all apt to have a peculiar 
' flavor. We are having an intensely w^arm day here to- 
. day which disposes all the people to be quiet. After 
1 my bath I was so sleepy I could not keep my eyes 
I open and had to go to my room and go to sleep in a 
' chair. 

There is a place about two miles away where boats 
I can be had to go sailing and fishing, but we have not 
managed to get there yet, and it now looks doubtful 
if we shall. It is always too hot or too cold, or too 
early or too late, or too windy or too something or 
other. This afternoon was fixed upon to go, and it 
is too hot. Yesterday we were going and then there 
was no wind. 

There is a little girl here, about three years old, 
just as sweet and pretty as though she were yours, and 
how I wish she was. She goes into the surf every day 
with her father and mother, and is as fearless as any 
grown person. When a wave breaks over her head, 
covering her entirely up, she is just delighted. Her 
mother has a very sweet face and now and then reminds 
me of my friend away of¥ on the St. Lawrence river. 
There are plenty of other children here, many of them 
larger, who kick up a great row about going into the 



20 

water, yelling and squealing and shrieking when taken 
in by their parents, as though they were being mur- 
dered. I wrote you on the 8th, asking you to write me 
at Delaware Water Gap every few days till hearing 
further. We shall probably reach there by Thurs- 
day, how long to stay I cannot tell. It will depend 
upon how we like it. We shall be in Philadelphia for 
two days at the Continental Hotel. Did you ever hear 
of it? Shall go and take a look at the Centennial build- 
ings and exhibition and the mint maybe. 

They will bring fresh to my mind a little girl I 
went with to see them some time ago. What a pleasant 
day we spent up at tlie Centennial grounds, dear. Do 
you remember it? 

The two happiest folks I have seen to-day were 
two poor little boys for whom I bought a couple of 
those red balloons. They were eying them very 
longingly and I thought I would invest a quarter to 
make their eyes sparkle and I succeeded entirely. 

Little folks are easily made happy if the older ones 
will but take a little trouble to make them so. I shall 
go to the Post-ofifice here for a letter from you to- 
morrow. If I don't get it, shall expect to have that 
pleasure in Philadelphia. With love from 

Robert. 



Continental Hotel, Philadelphia. 

Monday eve, August 13th. 

We reached here this morning, my dear Alice, and 
I found your letter awaiting me, very much to my satis- 
faction. I am sorry it seems so very long to you to 
wait till the 15th, but it does not seem any longer to 
you than it does to me. The days crawl along very 
slowly and I can only hope they will slip away more 
rapidly on the last half, and then you know perhaps 
it may yet be managed to slip off. some of the last days 
and meet somewhere on the way to New York, 



21 

T am pleased to hear you receive the Graphic reg- 
ularly and hope it may serve to while away some idle 
hours— if you have any idle ones. The old squaw 
fortune-teller must be a wonderful Sibyl. I shall begin 
to believe in her kind. The traveling alone must 
be your coming home from Three Rivers. The sec- 
ond husband and the two children. She must have 
1 ead your wishes in your soft, sweet eyes, Alice. Let us 
hope the real fortune will exceed in happiness her pre- 
dictions, and that neither of the two little children will 
be taken away. 1 was very sorry to hear of your 
mother's illness and hope she may entirely recover; 
she seems to have naturally a good constitution and, 
with care, should be spared for many a year yet. I 
think, my dear, your reply to P — about the long 
walk was good. He should walk with the lady he mar- 
ries for money. He may get enough of that sort of 
thing and marry the next time for love, if he has a 
chance. Don't flirt with him, dear, or anyone, W. in- 
cluded. Remember your friend, your true friend. My 
room in this house is on the floor above the ladies' 
parlor. The house is very nice and very nicely kept, 
but it is exceedingly warm here and there is not that 
now here to keep me contented, and I shall get away 
as soon as possible, I hope by Wednesday. I walked 
up Chestnut street alone to-day to No. 1304 to get my 
umbrella covered — yours was covered there. Saw in 
a jeweller's window a gold brooch, made like a half open 
fan and thought of the owner of one like it. Saw in an- 
other window a blue striped silk, just like one a dear 
friend of mine owns. She was in my mind all the way 
up and back. Our luggage did not come on the train 
with us from Cape May, it appears, and if it does 
not come on the next one — now about due — we shall 
be in a pickle. 

Cape May is an exceedingly pleasant place, take it 
all in all, and I hope you will have an opportunity of 
seeing whether you don't think so yet. 

There is so much going on that the day passes 



22 

quickly, as a general thing, except for those who sit 
and think of absent ones. 

Had you been here, nothing would have pleased 
me more than remaining the month out. How long 
we shall stay at the Water Gap I don't know, as it de- 
pends upon how we like It. Nor have I any idea as yet 
where we shall go from there. If it Is cool and pleasant 
and anything can be found to do to pass away 
the time, we may remain there a week or more. We 
may go to Niagara, shall conclude when we get to 
the Gap. 

I shall look for a letter from you as soon as I am 
there and don't believe I shall be disappointed. 

Continue to write me there till you hear otherwise. 

You tell me you are getting fat — I am so happy to 
hear It, only don't outgrow your new dress, as you 
know you can't afford it. 

It is getting towards ten o'clock, and I must go 
and see whether my trunks have come and have them 
carried up. Good night! Good night! Good night! 

R. 

Water Gap House. 
Delaware Water Gap, 

Thursday evening, August i6th. 

I wrote you from Philadelphia, my dearest one, 
acknowledging the receipt of your letter sent there, 
and reached this place this afternoon. 

Here I found awaiting me your delightful letter 
of last Sunday, which I have read and re-read and shall 
read again. I took it down under the trees surround- 
ing this hotel, and selecting a spot where I could look 
away up this beautiful valley of the Delaware river, 
read it and looked off into the distance and thought of 
you, imagined the river to be the St. Lawrence and 
you to be tipon it far away. 

What you say of the ride and little walk afterwards 
will never be forgotten by me. 



^3 

This hotel is very pleasantly situated high up above 
the river with magnificent views, and this evening is 
quite cool and agreeable. 

We had an excellent supper and the house appears 
to be extremely well kept. 

I was thinking this afternoon that could I but have 
here one whom I do deeply love, I should be quite con- 
tent to spend the summer here. 

We could wander through the woods, ride, row 
and talk, and the summer would pass like a dream. 

I see your friends in Three Rivers are doing much 
to make your visit there a pleasant one and am very 
glad to know they are. I imagine from what you tell 
me you are causing no end of excitement among the 
gentlemen. 

Would not you like to know or to have heard the 
conversation between P. and W. last Sunday morning, 
I fancy you would have heard your name more than 
once. 

I wonder if Mr. P. is sick of his matrimonial bar- 
gain. If so, he is in a bad scrape, but after all a man 
who marries a w^oman for money must not complain, 
for he goes in with his eyes open and cannot reasonably 
expect any true happiness. 

Your mother, I am very glad to hear, is continu- 
ing to grow better and sincerely trust she may not have 
another ill turn. 

You do not say what was the matter. Give her 
my kind regards. 

Do you know, darling, that when you are read- 
ing these lines the last half of your absence from home 
will be well under way? 

I shall be counting the days one by one. Sep- 
tember will be here in tw^o weeks; are you sorry? I 
think I hear your answer. However, do not dwell too 
much on time to come, enjoy yourself and be happy. 

I hope the Graphic comes all right and interests 
you. It is a nice sort of a paper, to say nothing of the 
illustrations, many of which are very good. I see you 



24 

have been wearing your blue silk to church again. I 
guess it is your favorite and don't wonder at it, for it 
is a sweet dress, especially when it covers so sweet a 
girl. But then any dress would be sweet when so used. 

If you get this letter in time to write me, and post 
the letter not later than the 20th (Monday), direct it 
to this place as heretofore, otherwise direct on the 
21st to Binghamton, New York, where I shall stop 
overnight, or if I do not, will take measures to have 
your letter sent to where I am. 

And now, dear, it is getting on towards 1 1 o'clock 
and the guests of the house are departing to bed one 
after another. 

The Katy-dids are singing lustily but they are not 
saying Katy-did to me. They say Alice — dear — Alice 
dear — hope — you're — well — hope — you're — well — fare 
— thee — well — fare — thee — well — and so I will follow 
their example and bid you good night. 

A stage load of guests is this moment coming up 
the mountain to the hotel from the village where they 
have been to a concert and they are singing and shout- 
ing, trying perhaps to drown the voices of my little 
singers in the trees, but they can't do it to me. 

Ever yours, 

Robert. 



Water Gap House. 
Delaware Water Gap, Penn. 

Monday morning, August 20th. 
I am commencing this letter, my dear Alice, with a 
pen I bought at the Centennial Buildings at Philadel- 
phia which writes by simply dipping it into water. 

The ink fills the inside of It in the form of paste 
w^hlch the water dissolves as you write. I have an idea 
that I shan't like It much, but will be better able to 
judge by the time this letter is finished. 

I wrote you last Friday, or rather Thursday, and 



25 

told you that I received your first letter sent here. I 
have no later letter from you, but hope for one to-day, 
which, however, will not reach me till this is gone, as 
the mail comes in after the outward mail closes. This 
place is, as I told you in my last, beautiful; the views 
of the Delaware river and Blue Ridge Mountains are 
splendid. •• There are numerous mountain walks for 
those who like climbing, and seats in a variety of spots 
around the hotel under the trees for a quiet rest, or talk, 
or read. 

With the charming moonlight nights now occur- 
ring lovers w^ould find no difficulty in suiting them- 
selves to little paradisiacal nooks and corners for talk- 
ing and kissing. 

Those, however, who have no sweet ones or whose 
loved ones are elsewhere must content themselves w^ith 
sitting on the piazza in the moonlight and wishing their 
darlings here or themselves wdiere their dear ones are. 

The house w^e are at, 400 feet above the river, 
is the finest and best one here. There are, however, 
several others, and some of them very good, I believe. 
At hotels one meets, as you know, all sorts of people. 
Ihere are two young ladies who sit at our table, and 
who are extremely dissatisfied with everything they 
have to eat, and as the food is really excellent and 
very nicely prepared, it is reasonable to conclude that 
they live chiefly on mush and molasses or similar prov- 
ender at home and are putting on a few airs on their 
travels. Something is the matter with one of them. 
She seems to rise and sit down with much difficulty. 
The waiter says she has a ''misery" in her side which 
was hurt by falling out of a swing. Then there is a 
slim old lady with long ear-rings, a long nose and a 
hatchet face who is full to the brim with gossip and 
reels it off by the fathom with great satisfaction to 
herself if to nobody else. The gayety here is not to be 
compared with Cape May. No music to speak of — all 
it consists of one pianist, common; one fiddler, poor; 
one cornet player, very bad, and scarcely any dancing. 



26 

They profess to have a dance every other night, 
but it is a very sickly affair. What with the wheezy 
cornet-blower, the scraping fiddler and the bang-wang- 
ing piano player the provocation to trip on the light 
fantastic toe is not great. And there is a peculiarity 
of the dancers here which I have noticed and observed 
also at Cape May, and that is a perfect disregard of the 
music so far as time is concerned. Even when the play- 
ers keep good time two-thirds of the people in the 
round dances hop and skip about the room with no 
more attention to the time of the tune than if they 
were utterly deaf. This, of course, spoils the whole 
effect of the dancing however graceful the dancer may 
be and gives them an odd ridiculous sort of look like 
Jumping Jacks or Punches and Judys. 

We shall probably leave here Thursday or Friday. 
We hardly know where to go, but shall doubtless pro- 
ceed to Watkins Glen for a few days, and then it is just 
about an even chance whether we go on to Niagara. 
I trust you and yours remain well and happy, that you 
continue to enjoy yourself with your kind and hospi- 
table friends and that you will come back to New York 
when your visit is over with many pleasant incidents 
to remember, but without regret and with unabated 
love for 

Your own 

Robert. 



Delaware Water Gap, Penn. 

August 22d. 

Your precious letter of the i6th, ''Carissima mea," 
(which is the Latin, I believe, for "dearest one") 
reached me about one hour ago, after mine of the 
20th started on its voyage to Canada to you, and its 
receipt made me very happy. You say that a knowledge 
that others love a person makes us love the person 
more ourselves. This is no doubt true, but whether in 



27 

my case, so far as you arc concerned, is a little doubt- 
ful, for I know not if there is any room for an increase 
of my affection for you. However, I am entirely wil- 
ling to have it grow if it is possible. You speak of 
quiet, pleasant rows on the St. Lawrence. I have had 
two on the Delaware. The river was as smooth as a 
mirror and reflected the mountains on each side almost 
as perfectly, and as we returned the other evening as 
it was growing dusk we overtook a party who were 
singing, and one of their songs was Sweet By and 
Bye, and who do you suppose that brought into my 
mind? 

I trust that nothing I have ever written you has 
seemed to imply that I could not entirely and fully trust 
and confide in you. 

1 have never had such a feeling for one moment, 
never a doubt of your unwavering love and fidelity. 
We shall leave here on Friday, the 24th, and after stop- 
]Mng for the night at Binghamton, go on to Watkins 
Glen, where we may stay a week or so, depending 
somewhat upon how we like it. 

I did not tell you that we brought along with us 
the little alligator left living at the time we left New 
York. A. thought it would not receive proper care, 
and so took it along. It did not seem to do well, 
however, and died a couple of days ago, the last of the 
three and after all surviving much longer than I sup- 
l)osed any of them would when we got them. 

Last night was a most magnificent moonlight 
night, and it seemed a sort of desecration of it to have 
a hop in a hot gas-lit room to poor music, as we did 
have, and in fact it did not go ofT very well. 

There is a woeful lack of dancing gentlemen, and 
the young ladies have to dance together, which is not 
exactly the poetical thing, you know. The sweet little 
girl I believe I wrote you about at Cape May is here, 
having come with her parents the other day. She has 
deep blue eyes and one of the prettiest little mouths in 
the world, and so bright and winning. She reminds 



28 

me of an older little girl far away whose own little one 
I wish she was. 

I was talking with her to-day and asked her if she 
could spell words. "Oh yes," said she, but, as I have 
learned; she is only about three years old. 

I did not suppose she was very great in that line, 
so I asked her to spell ''cat," which she declined to do 
for the reason that there was so much noise in the 
room. As it really was quite still, you will see her little 
head works pretty quickly in inventing excuses, but 
she is always so cunning and sweet that everybody 
notices and makes much of her. 

To-morrow begins the last week of August, and 
our time of parting is getting short. When Sep- 
tember once sets in the few days intervening will soon 
roll away and we shall, I trust, once more look into 
each other's eyes. 

The last few days have been intensely warm here, 
and I hope you have been more fortunate in tempera- 
ture. 

To-day I think one of the very warmest of this 
summer. Would you like to pass a couple of days or 
so at Saratoga in case I can manage it? I don't know 
yet whether we shall go there, but if we do and you 
would like it I shall try to think up a plan to bring it 
about. You know you will probably pass through 
Saratoga on your way home after September loth. 
Saratoga will not be at its gayest, but you could get 
some idea of the place and know what it is like. 

Perhaps it would not be best to speak of this little 
scheme to any of your friends, as some of them might 
take it in their heads to come down with you for a 
day. Think the matter over and let me know. I will 
write no more to-night, as there may be another letter 
from you in the ofifice by the night's mail and I want 
to get it and acknowledge it in this. 

August 23d. 

As I hoped, dear, I have yours of the 20th, and 
also another dear letter written on the 15th, and for 



29 

some reason delayed on the way. I have abandoned 
tlic writiniT^ room in dis.q^ust and gone to my own room 
to finish this letter. There was so much confusion 
down stairs and, as you will see, am writing with my 
water pen I wrote you about in my last. 

It is no improvement on the old kind as you have 
to dip it into water just as often as you do the other 
Ivind into ink, and it sometimes refuses to make a 
mark. 

You do not know, dearest, how happy the receipt 
of your letter makes me, so tender, so loving, so sweet. 
Life, as you say, is a dull, tame afTair without some one 
to love, and to be so loved by you is more than I would 
have dared to hope or even could wish. My prayer is 
that we may each be spared to the other for long, 
long years. 

The poems you send me are in many respects 
expressions of our feelings for each other, notably the 
longer one in the beautiful language which Byron so 
well knew how to use. More exquisite love poems than 
some he has written never were penned by mortal 
man. There is one, his ''Dream," which is equal to 
anything ever composed and was his own actual ex- 
perience. If you have never happened to see it, I will 
show it to you when we meet. 

You speak, darling, of your recollections of Febru- 
ary loth. 

These occasions are forever fixed in my mind as 
well and will remain there so long as life endures. 

Let us say, as the new year's callers do: "Many 
happy returns of the day." Your story of the ill success 
of the Sunday-school reminds me of what occurred 
here a night or two ago. A lady gave recitations in 
the parlor with her little son, and although no charge 
was made for entrance, it was well understood that 
she was reading and reciting to maintain herself and 
children. 

Her entertainment was very good and there was 
no lack of people in the room, but when the hat was 



30 

passed round for contributions, what was chiefly heard 
was the chink of ten-cent pieces, which doesn't go very 
far towards supporting a family. If all the mean folks 
in this world were to be killed ofif, Alice, I am afraid 
there would be lots of room for those left. 

I expect to sleep in Watkins Glen on Friday and 
shall not stop at Binghamton if it can be helped, now 
that there will be nothing there to stop for. 
Fare thee well, dearest, 

Robert. 



Watkins Glen, N. J., August 26th. 

I am writing this letter, dear Alice, Sunday even- 
ing, having sent you a short one yesterday acknowledg- 
ing the receipt of your dear letter of Wednesday last, 
which I got yesterday immediately after my arrival here 
and just before the mail closed. 

There is a convention of ministers at this hotel, 
some hailing from various parts of the country, for 
mutual consultation and also, I imagine, for recreation, 
and who appear to be having a good sort of a time. 
They rest and pray and sing and compare notes pretty 
much all the time. 

They had a long meeting this afternoon which I 
attended and don't perceive that any harm has re- 
sulted. 

They seem to be a pretty good set of fellows and 
quite a number of them have their wives with them 
and those that have not pretend they wish they had 
out of compliment to their absent spouses, I imagine. 
It costs nothing and looks well, you know. 

We took a long walk up Watkins Glen this morn- 
ing and found it a very pleasant excursion. It is 
a kind of gorge or chasm with immensely high walls 
on each side and just now only a little silvery stream 
of water at the very bottom, where it seems to have cut 
into the rock like a knife. The effect would be much 
improved if the supply of water was greater, which it 



31 

doubtless is durinj^: the winter and spring, when, how- 
ever, I don't think 1 should particularly care to come 
and see it. 

There are two glens hereabout — the other some 
four miles distant, called the Havana Glen, which we 
are to ride over to-morrow and look at. Some years 
ago when I was here before, I recollect thinking 
the latter glen to be quite as pretty and interest- 
ing as the glen here, I shall send you a few views if 
I can find any which give one a good idea of the ravine 
, and places of interest. 

I This place is a hard one to get a chance to write a 

I letter in. There are now two ladies writing and gab- 
j bling, with much more of the last than the first. 

We somewhat expected to stay here a week, but 
', have concluded it will be too much and shall go Tues- 
I day or Wednesday. 

! If your second letter has not reached me by the 

time I leave, I shall leave word with the Postmaster 

, to forward it to me at Niagara Falls. You mention in 

your last that your mother is not feeling well and frets 

I to go home, and I do not see where she can go, at least 

[while you are away, except to Georgia's, and I should 

hardly think she would wish to go there, feeling as 

jshe does towards G's husband. 

: Write me what her notion is. You know when 
I she left New York her intention was to remain in 
(Canada. Where we shall go from Niagara I am sure 
I don't know, but will write you as soon as I do. 
I I don't want to go to Montreal and be within 90 
'miles of you without seeing you, as this would simply be 
'an aggravation, and I am sure you would feel about it 
Ijust as I do. I prefer to worry out the time farther 
laway. We have had some talk of returning by the way 
'of Saratoga and I have written you about what I would 
jlike to have you do, if we do. Of course, we should see 
'and talk with each other if this happens. And you 
Jwould see the place. 

Still it may be not easy to manage, and I can't tell 



32 

exactly what will be best till we get there. So, after 
having your ideas on the subject I will do as seems 
upon the whole best and most judicious. 

Write me a second letter to Niagara three days 
after your first one, and by that time I will let you know 
whether we shall be there long enough for you to write 
a third. The parsons are now swarming through the 
halls and making any quantity of noise, confusion, and 
I really don't know whether this letter is worth sending 
to you. 

I hope my next, which will probably go from the 
Falls, will be better worth reading. I trust this letter 
will find your sweet self in perfect health and your 
mother also in the same happy condition, and wonder- 
ing whether this bright, beautiful moonlight night, 
at ten o'clock a certain darling little girl I know is 
thinking of me or whether she is thinking of some one 
else or dreaming away the night fast asleep, 
I remain, ever yours, 

Robert. 

Direct to Niagara Falls, New York. As a rule, 
dear, I think I would post my letters myself, unless it 
is not convenient to do so. You know there are many 
inquisitive people in the world, sometimes more so than 
we think. 



Niagara Falls. 
Wednesday evening, August 29th. 
10.20 P. M. 
We have just arrived at this place from Wat- 
kins Glen, my dear one, and got our supper, but I could 
not rest without sending you or rather writing you a 
few lines that will go of¥ early in the morning in order 
that they may reach you by Saturday or Sunday. We 
were at Watkins Glen four days. The glen is all right, 
a great curiosity and well worth a visit, but the hotel at 
which we stopped is very poor, the food very badly 
cooked and everything so dirty, so much so as to take 



33 

one's appetite away and ^We you a general disgust for 
everything there. As I have already written you, there 
was a convention of parsons there, collected together 
to discuss the bible and compare notes as to their 
understanding of it. They kept up their meetings 
morning, noon and night, praying, exhorting and 
spouting. 

It was quite entertaining for a while, but began 
to grow tiresome. Among my pleasant recollections 
of the place will be the receipt of your three letters sent 
there, the second and third since I last wTote you, 
and which I now acknowledge the receipt of, and my 

I getting them all was fortunate. I will tell you why. 

I The first one was sent up to the mountain, w^hy, I can- 
not say, for they had no business to send it anywhere 

I out of the post-office. 

I I happened to look over the letters on reaching 

I the hotel and found it awaiting me. This was good 
luck No. I. If it had happened to be sent to any other 

* hotel I never should have got it. 

The second was delivered to me .regularly, but 

I the third which I thought you might have written I 
went for this morning before leaving and was told 
there were none. It struck me the young snip of a 

! clerk did not half look, and so I stopped there about 

'( an hour after on my w-ay to the depot and asked for a 

j letter again. 

There was another clerk there this time and he 
found and handed out No. 3. So you see it was only 

j by a streak of luck and good management that I received 
them all. I was glad to hear that your young friend, W. 
F., has been so fortunate as to be promised the hand of 
a pretty and nice young girl and hope she will prove 
to be as good and sweet as he deserves, for I should 
judge from what you say of him that he is a very good 
young fellow and worthy of a real nice wife. 

I don't think you would run any risk in introduc- 
ing me to that very, very pretty young girl you spoke 
of with the mouth'just like a cherry. You would find 

n 

i 
I 



34 

me proof against her charms. There is another mouth 
I know of that fills my eyes so completely that there 
is no room for a second one. I am sorry to hear of 
there being so many nice girls in Three Rivers and no 
unmarried gentlemen. 

The girls are in mighty bad luck and should emi- 
grate West where the men predominate. I hope the 
views sent you from the Gap will come safely. I sent 
yesterday from the Glen eleven more views of Wat- 
Icins and Havana Glens. Havana Glen is in my opinion 
quite equal to it in beauty and attraction. Look at the 
views and see if you don't agree with me. I was going 
to send twelve, but wrote a little on one, and so had to 
keep it back, as ever so little writing subjects the whole 
package to letter postage and I sent these last open 
at one end as printed matter. 

They will probably come among the newspapers. 
Let me know if they reach you in safety. 

The one I did not send is the bridge you speak of 
between the hotel and dining-room. It is right over the 
chasm, and if I was going to be there to-morrow night 
I should surely be on it at precisely nine, thinking of 
you know who, and knowing she was thinking of me, 
which would double the pleasure of the thoughts. The 
lady with whom you are staying, Mrs. R., must, I am 
sure, be a lovely woman — so kind and thoughtful, al- 
ways doing something to make you happy and to love 
her. Such friends are rare and cannot be too highly 
appreciated and cherished. 

You say the little turtle is doing well — it is a great 
little living memento of 119. I wrote you the last alli- 
gator had departed this life. P. is evidently frisky and 
needs the presence of his wife. Your conduct towards 
him, my darling, in declining walks alone, is entirely 
right and a? it should be. It is just not only to your- 
self but his wife. Do not do one single act while in 
Three Rivers, my dear one, that can ever be recollected 
or recalled against you hereafter, and I am sure you 
will not, and while I think of it I will suggest that you 



35 

do not let him know just when you are goin|^ to return 
home, he might devise a plan to accompany you 
wholly or part way, and you do not want him. 

After tea to-night I stopped for a momcrit out on 
the piazza of this house, which overhangs the Rapids, 
and as I watched the rushing of the mighty waters 
just before they make their great leap, how I wished 
your own sweet self was with me sharing the view. 

Wishing is sometimes a very pleasant business, 
but it doesn't bring us those we love except through our 
imaginations. But this is very much better than not 
seeing them at all, is it not? But time passes and 
passes — the night is getting on towards morning, 11.30, 
and I think they want to put out the gas and shut up 
the room I am writing in. So good night and pleasant 
dreams to you. Write me on receipt of this, directing 
to Niagara Falls, New York. I may be here a week or 
more. 

Robert. 



Niagara, Sept. ist. 

I am this moment in receipt, my dear one, of your 
letter of August 29th, and snatch five minutes to answer 
it at once as the mail closes very soon and there is no 
mail on Sunday, to-morrow, and I know you will think 
it strange and wrong if no word of mine gets to you until 
Monday. The receipt of your sweet letter makes me 
very happy. You are so loving, so lovable, everything 
in it gave me pleasure. But what you say about poor 
Mollie! Poor girl! I am so sorry for her. I hope 
you have written her a good, long, sympathetic letter. 
We have been about somewhat, over to the Canada 
side and down to the Whirlpool Rapids and over to 
Goat Island, but yesterday it rained hard till afternoon. 
I shall send you some views from here. Have you re- 
ceived those I sent you from Watkins Glen? 

There are two chatting young girls sitting right 
behind me as I write, and I am not sure some of their 
nonsense may not get into this epistle. 



36 

There are not many people here now, and they tell 
me the season has been very light. 

The hotel is first rate, as it has been for years. A 
good many newly-married couples come here on their 
bridal tours, and you can tell as soon as you lay eyes 
on them, though they try hard to look indifferent and 
like old married folks. 

This is a glorious day and we are going over to 
the Sister Islands, right in the wildest of the upper 
Rapids, where the water rages and tosses as it goes 
speeding past, being as beautiful a sight perhaps as 
the Falls themselves. 

I am so glad to hear you are all now well and that 
your mother has quite recovered after such a siege, 
and I trust she may remain in good health. 

I shall send you another letter on Monday, and 
you must consider this as a part of that sent ahead to 
prevent four long days from intervening before you 
hear again from me after the receipt of my last. Good 
bye, and God bless you, darling. 

After Tuesday send letters to Saratoga Springs, 
New York. 

Robert. 



Niagara Falls, Sept. 6th. 

I had just put my letters of this date in the office 
when your extra nice, long letter, or rather letters of 
Saturday and Sunday, came, and in the same curious 
manner that the one reached me at Watkins Glen I 
wrote you about. It was handed to me at this hotel 
as belonging to some of our party. How it happened 
to be delivered from the Post-office is one of those mys- 
teries that ''no fellow can find out," as Lord Dundreary 
says. 

Friday morning, Sept. 7th. The writing of this 
letter was interrupted where it stops on the last page, 
and I resume this morning at Clifton Springs, where 
we arrived last night at 10.30 in a slow accommodation 



37 

train and in the midst of a heavy rainstorm. We had 
to walk to the liotel, and it was just about as hght as 
a dark closet, and on the whole we had rather the 
reverse of a pleasant entrance into the town. A very 
good supper, however, awaited us, having been ordered 
by telegraph from the Falls in advance, otherwise I 
think we should have had to go supperless to bed as 
we could not even fall back on an outside restaurant, 
as we did at Richmond and Columbia. 

It is raining this morning and we are shut up in 
the house, and the day promises to be about a week 
long. You say, Willie F. paid you quite a compliment 
on your moonlight ride. He is a young gentleman of 
taste evidently, but I thought you wrote me he had lately 
become engaged, and if so, how happens it that he 
tells you if you will find him just such a girl as you 
are, he will come right down to New York and marry 
her? 

How many girls is the young Mormon thinking of 
marrying, or has he already sickened of his first choice? 
I am afraid his present sweetheart ought to keep a 
pretty close lookout over him. 

i do remember the little gift a certain person 
bought for a certain little girl at Niagara Falls long 
years ago, and how long it was kept and when given, 
and trust it may never be necessary to keep another 
as many weeks as that one was kept years. 

You speak, dear, of the weather. Pretty much all 
the time we were at the Falls cold weather was the rule. 
Some days it was very chilly and we began to talk of 
taking our winter walks and winter views of the sights. 
September seems to have come in with a regular 
autumnal smash, but I dare say we shall have quite a 
spell of warm weather a little later on. 

Your idea of the two Glens is like mine. I think 
Havana upon the whole is the handsomest, but would 
be quite contented to be showing my friend the wonder- 
ful places in either one this morning with a little less 
rain. 



3S 

The Council Chamber is one of the very finest 
views in the Havana — at once beautiful and impressive. 
The sweet little pen picture you draw of the lady and 
gentleman has struck my fancy greatly. 

Is it struck out of your imagination or drawn 
from the stores of your memory? You shall tell me 
when we meet, if from memory of an actual experience. 
What a happy fellow he must have been! But, alas, 
such happiness is not in store for all. Lightning does 
not strike a man very often. I guess you begin to 
wonder at getting this long letter from one who wrote 
you the other day that no more letters would probably 
be written, but if you will forgive me this time I promise 
not to ofifend again unless something important hap- 
pens, and really I could not help writing after getting 
your third welcome long letter already alluded to. We 
shall not remain here after Monday, but shall go about 
half way home and stop over for a day, reaching New 
York on Wednesday for dinner. The springs here are 
sulphur springs, quite strong I should judge from what 
I hear. There is a hotel here which is also kept as a 
sort of water cure, an old established af¥air, and doing 
an excellent business winter and summer. We are not 
where there are so many invalids. 

The house we stop at is used as a young ladies' 
school nine months in the year, and we have to vacate 
Monday anyhow, as it is wanted for school prepara- 
tions. 

In my last two letters I wrote you fully in regard 
to your return, so will not now again repeat. 

I expect to get your Saratoga letter if you wrote 
me there and one other while here, and shall have them 
sent after me if not arriving in time. I have spoken in 
previous letters of your leaving Montreal by the Del- 
aware and Hudson railroad Friday morning, because 
I understand you cannot come the other way (the way 
you went) in the morning. Of course, if you find you 
can come the old way and can reach New York at the 
same time in the evening by the Hudson River R.R., 



39 

you can do so if you prefer it, but don*t run any risk of 
detention or not making connections. And now, dear- 
est, I will again bid you good bye till we meet, which 
God grant may be in safety, good health and as we have 
arranged in time. 

R. 



ONE YEAR LATER. 

August 15th. 
Monday afternoon. 
Yours is received, and I am very glad to know 
you are all right and well. I hope you will continue 
to like your new room better than the old one. 

Do not undertake the little trip you speak of with 
A. There are reasons why it would not be advisable, 
and if Mrs. B. won't go this week, let it sleep till next or 
some succeeding week. Thursday of next week I hope 
to see you in New York and the time will soon slip 
away. 

Come down on that day if you can. Nobody could 
be happier than I to see you before if circumstances 
favored it, as you well know. But as it is, my friend 
must be brave and patient. 

Robert. 
I have less than thirty minutes to reach the train, 
have been so busy. 



Tuesday, August i6th. 

You can hardly realize, my darling, how disap- 
pointed I was this morning, when, as the train rolled 
up to Katonah, your loved face was not to be seen. 

I was in the parlor car, keeping a seat for you, 
and at once began to imagine all sorts of things had 
happened — that you were sick or had been run away 
with by a horse and thrown out of the buggy, or that 
A. was sick. On reaching New York, however, I at 
once went to my office, and there your two letters 
awaited me. I do not know that you did quite wisely 



40 

in going to a strange place alone, even with Mrs. H.'s 
introduction without any talk with your friend on the 
matter. 

It seems to me, my dearest one, that the better 
plan would have been when you concluded not to come 
home just yet, to have remained at Mrs. B.'s a few days 
longer and come down to the city to-day with me; then 
we could have considered the matter of changing to 
Waccabuc, and I should have been saved my dis- 
appointment in coming to the city expressly to see you. 
My sweet girl should remember that she is very pre- 
cious to her friend, and when he has set his heart on 
seeing her, he does not like to have her fail him, nor 
to make new moves and changes without counselling 
with him, because he wishes to protect her so far as he 
possibly can from all annoyances or harm, and reasons 
for and against a new move sometimes might occur 
to him that would not to her. But the thing is now 
done, and I hope will turn out all right, and we shall 
have no cause to regret it. Come down to New York, 
dearest, on the 9.12 train, Thursday. Take the parlor 
car at Goldens Bridge, and I will join you as soon as 
I can. If you cannot well leave A., bring him with you. 

Ever only yours, 

Robert. 



New York, Sept. 6th. 
My dear AHce: — 

I cannot get away on Saturday, but expect to be 
able to do so on Thursday next. Will leave New York 
on the first morning train and hope to stay at Waccabuc 
till Wednesday or Thursday. I trust the rainy weather 
has not made you home sick. 

After all this storm we ought to have some weeks 
of splendid weather. I suppose you had a regular del- 
uge the day after you went up. 

I expect to find you in fine rowing trim and that 
all I shall have to do on that boat excursion to come 



41 

off, will be to sit in the stern and steer. I hope you are 
well and happy. 

God bless you, 

Robert. 



THREE YEARS LATER. 

New York, August 29th. 

And here I am this Thursday evening, sitting 
quietly at home thinking of a little girl away up in the 
country, who by this time, 9.30 P.M., is perhaps peace- 
fully sleeping in her little bed dreaming it may be of 
him who is tracing these lines. If this be so,T can only 
wish that her dream-thoughts may be as sweet and 
pleasant of him as his waking ones are at this moment 
of her. 

I came down Monday afternoon, reaching New 
York at 9.20 P.M. all right. The next morning I paid 
a visit to the little house. It is right there, just as it 
was left — even to the burning gas in the little dressing- 
room on the second story which I put out just to be 
able to say I was of some service there. 

But very little dust had accumulated, and in fact, 
I think, you \y\\\ go back into it about the loth of 
September and find everything in a very satisfactory 
condition. I had some trouble in opening the outer 
door, but finally found the thin key went in too far. 
and by pulling it back a little, could turn the latch 
without dif^culty. T mention this to save you any 
bother in case I forget to speak of it w^hen I see you. 
I went Tuesday evening to the new Concert Hall at 
corner of Broadway and Forty-first street. It is very 
handsome and spacious, and the music was very good, 
and so was the ventilation — too good, for I got what I 
did not go for — a cold in the head and have been 
sneezing ever since, occasionally, nothing serious but 
still not altogether agreeable. 



4^ 

Went to Coney Island last evening, or rather in the 
afternoon. The usual multitude of people were there, 
splendid music and fine sea breezes. I ate steamed clams 
at the Brighton Pavilion and sat at the next table and 
opposite to a party you know — a gentleman who was 
taking his supper with another gentleman. Will tell 
you more about it when we meet. I have had lots to 
do day times and shall not be able to get to Milton this 
time, and I am afraid shall not even get to Morristown, 
though I am expected. I shall return to Saratoga Satur- 
day, Divine Providence permitting. Busy though I have 
been, I have not been so busy but that I looked over 
my treasures yesterday afternoon, among other things 
looked long at a little golden curl or lock cut long ago 
from the head of one whose heart is still gold and whose 
love is more precious than gold to me. 

The little ringlet is beautifully bright and lustrous, 
and the little head on which it grew must have been 
wonderfully lovely and sunshiny. I hope your teeth 
have not troubled you lately and that you and little A. 
have both been quite well. The city up-town is as quiet 
as a country churchyard. Almost everybody is away, 
and most of those who are here are growling because 
they can't get away. Did you go to Luzerne as you 
talked of and did you enjoy the excursion? 

I was weighed at Coney Island and am 162 pounds 
avoirdupois. Pretty good for me. You must not let 
me get ahead of you. Come down to Saratoga on 
Tuesday, you will find one there glad to see you. Till 
then good bye and good night. 

Ever yours, 

Robert. 



MY LITTLE GIRL, YOU KNOW. 

She is very dear to me, 
Dear as anything can be, 
Here on earth. 



43 

Around my poor old heart, 
With a simple childish art, 

Almost from birth, 
She has wound a silken chain 
That has strangled many a pain — 

My little girl, you know. 

She is winsome, she is gay, 
In her own peculiar way; 

And she knows 
How to play upon my heart. 
Many a biting, bitter smart 

Born of woes 
Too deep for mortal ken 
She has banished now and then — 

My little girl, you know. 

She's coquettish in her ways; 
A«d her roguish look betrays 

A wondrous art, 
That can drive dull care away, 
Send a warm sunshiny ray 

Around my heart; 
Whilst her magical sweet voice 
Makes my weary heart rejoice — 

My little girl, you know. 

Hers a face of daintiest mold. 
Where a poet may behold, 

With rapt surprise, 
A type of beauty rare. 
And her sunny, golden hair — 

Sparkling eyes — 
Work a rapture of delight, 
Full of sweetness, full of light — 

My little girl, you know. 

Every moment, every hour, 
With her winsome winning power 

She displays 
Such a wealth of sweet caress, 
Such a power to win and bless, 

Beyond praise. 
That I find a rare delight 
In her presence day and night — 

My little girl, you know. 



44 

Earth has many a bitter cup 
From whose dregs we sorrow sup, 

O'er and o'er, 
But in her I find a peace 
Of all sorrow the surcease, 

Never found before, 
Yes, she's very dear to me, 
Dear as anything can be — 

My little girl, you know. 



ONE YEAR LATER. 

New York, August 9th. 

I am just favored, Alice, with your letter from 
Toronto, and am happy to hear that you had a pleasant 
time in Niagara. I sent you a letter there which you 
no doubt got on your return from Toronto, although 
in your last note from Niagara you advised me not to 
write until I heard from you. 

As you are to start this morning for the Glen, 
this letter shall reach you very soon after you get 
there. 

There is very little here that is new and interest- 
ing. The streets up-town are deserted and look as 
though the city had been emptied of its inhabitants. 
Down town the streets make a better show,. I have not 
been away nor can I get away just yet. Was down last 
night to Coney Island, where it seemed quiet and dull. 
The hotels there miss the absentees from the city. Had 
a letter yesterday from A. 

I am in hopes you will find Watkins Glen all that 
you anticipate and will not find yourselves very much 
in need of masculine attendance. Don't forget the 
drive over to and the walk up Havana Glen. Am glad 
to hear you are getting so fat. Stop just before vou 
begin to grow pursy. Corpulent ladies are not pretty 
ladies. Have you heard from A., and is he all right^ 
Eet me know when you leave for Philadelphia and what 
day you xyill reach there. The weather here has con- 
tinued delightful and I continue, thank God, to feel 



45 

very well, and so it is not so much of a hardship to 
stay here and work. 

I hope you will both get through your trip in good 
health and with only a pleasant experience to remem- 
ber. Give my kind regards to Airs. W. 

Robert. 



Wednesday night, January 20th. 
Good fortune, good health, long life and all happi- 
ness to her whose eyes these first words first meet! 
That she may never have less to be happy with 
I and thankful for than now is the earnest hope of your 
I friend 
( Robert. 



Ocean Bluff Hotel. 
Kennebunkport, j\Ie., July 31st. 
Dear Alice: — 

I wrote you on Monday enclosing a check — a wed- 
ding present which I trust reached you safely. Have 
just received a line from you asking me to pay Tiffany 
& Co. for your wedding cards. 

This I will do, and wall you please consider it as 
part of the wedding gift. 

With love. Your friend, 

Robert. 



A Personal Once Intended for Me. 

In the New York Herald. 

I dreamed of you the other night, my friend. You 

stood before me and as I approached to speak, gazing 

into your dear, bright face, a hideous creature rose be- 

' tween us in a black cloud, shutting you out from view. 

I Her picture is burned into my memory. She was a 

I fat, squatty damsel, about four feet high, with one great 

I squinting green eye, with a red edge like a Lima bean 



46 

cut in Malachite and set in coral. Her hair was the 
color of the setting sun or the rising moon and flowed 
like a bunch of radishes or young beats down her 
downy neck. Her nose was like a dab of soft putty 
thrown against a door and her mouth resembled a hole 
in a kid glove, bursting from overtightness or a weather 
crack in a white oak log or a ragged edge break in a 
little boy's trousers. Her teeth stood along zigzag in 
that mouth at intervals like a line of antique fence 
posts. Her cheeks, owing to ,early misfortune in the 
small pox line, looked like twin buckwheat cakes in 
their first griddle agony or two rows of honeycomb 
tripe, with ears straining every nerve to leave their 
parent head and a complexion like a New Jersey road 
in a dry time or a pile of pale bricks or a Boston squash, 
a waist fully five feet round and a form taller when she 
lies down than when she stands up. Such was the 
aspect of this lovely being as fixing that fearful eye upon 
me and with a countenance ashen with fury and jealousy 
she shrieked out to my intense relief: I hate you. Had 
she loved me, my funeral would have occurred the sec- 
ond day afterwards. She vanished behind a roseate 
cloud which slowly fading away into a silvery mist re- 
vealed your own beautiful self, my friend. Taking my 
hand between your own, you uttered these memorable 
and golden words: '1 confide in you." Let us ever be 
friends. B. 

^ • 

Alice! 

My beautiful and real heart's love — I cannot give 
you a name that will commence to express my great 
love for you. I love you from the bottom of my heart, 
my soul responds to thy sweet spirit as doth the harp 
to the fingers of the maiden. I love you and think of you 
in the busy hours of day, in the stillness of the night. 
You are my sun. You have seen the flowers turn 
towards the sun. The little birds sing and dance at its 
coming. The running brook sparkles under its bright 
glance; all nature indeed rejoices and grows glad; even 



47 

the falling rain drops will form an arch of radiant 
beauty across the sky at its coming. Your presence is 
more to me even than the sun is to all these. How 
beautiful your face, how brilliant your eyes, how airy 
your carriage is to me. Your voice is to me like ringing 
of sweet bells. You may think this a fancy picture. But 
I tell you, it does not picture my love for you. No 
words wealthy enough to express my love for you. 
I adore you and worship you. Were I dying, I could 
die happy were you near to comfort me, to kiss me, to 
say you love me. I pray for you every night, the 
sweet word Alice is heard in every prayer I of¥er. I 
hope you will soon learn to pray, so you two can pray 
for me. I can never tire of you. Your voice is melody 
to my ear. In your dear presence my joy is unspeak- 
able. You ask me, do I love you? and this is my 
answer: No word to of¥end has ever passed my lips, 
how could you? How^ could you think of it? Recall 
my words and you w^ill remember and be satisfied. But 
this is explained. Don't speak hastily, weigh w^ell your 
w^ords for they sink deep into my soul. What is earth 
without the sun? All darkness, gloom and death. Al- 
ways remember you are my sun, my light, my joy; 
without you, I, too, w^ould be in darkness and gloom. 

God bless you, 

Ollie. 



Light of my soul, Alice! 

A bird sings to me to-night, my heart leaps with 
joy, I feel like a prisoner just escaped from a pent-up 
and narrow cell, now^ out in the broad earth, fresh air 
and sweet flowers. Great fields filled with daisies and 
wild flowers, tufts of living green orchards and great 
oaks, a stream runs babbling along on its gleeful way to 
the ocean. Birds of elegant plumage singing the sweet- 
est carols, filling the air wdth notes w^hich, ascending 
up to heaven, cause joy among the angels. This ex- 
presses but faintly the feeling of my soul to-night. 



48 

What a happy day it has been. Although up very late 
last night, or I should say not getting to sleep until 
the small hours of morning, yet I feel as fresh as if 
from a long sleep — my mind as clear as crystal, my 
heart full of love. I have found a gem of great price, 
a jewel of sparkling beauty. 

Her breath is as the perfume of roses — her voice 
is music to my ear — her soul looks out to me through 
the windows of her bright eyes — her smile is my sun- 
shine, my rainbow of light and promise. She smiled 
on me and I was happy. To-day earth was a heaven, 
I could have died in her presence happy. How I adore 
thee! Oh, cast out all fear, love me with all thy power, 
for no woman was ever loved by man more than I love 
thee. Heaven bless and protect thee and save thee 
from all harm. May thy guardian angel ever be on the 
watch to protect thee. Long life and happiness be thy 
lot and when thou departest this life, may a cloud of an- 
gels take thee straight to the throne of God. There may 
we meet and never know any more sorrow and for- 
ever lead lives of joy and gladness. You say leave me. 
I thought of the root of the tree that sometimes winds 
around a stone, throwing tendril after tendril until at 
last the stone cannot be seen — all is roots and tendrils. 
Imagine the tree looking down and saying to the help- 
less stone, leave me. You are the tree, my heart is 
the stone; how can I leave you? The words pierce my 
very soul. 

Good night, 

Ollie. 



New York. 
My dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

I wonder who will get the first letter— about time 
I began to write anyway. The reason why I am so 
tardy in letting you know that I am just feeling ele- 
gant is, because I have been what they vulgarly call 
humming, but properly speaking, enjoying, the beauti- 



49 

fill evenings and lovely weather in general. Oh, this 
has been a bad week thus far for staying at home. You 
know where I was Monday evening — Tuesday night 
12.30 A. M. — To-night, well, cannot say as yet. It is 
now 1 1.30 A.M., and at 12 my colleague and myself are 
going to start out on a little touring expedition, going 
to Brooklyn and there take a train and run up to some 
beach. Do not know yet where. Dr. F. called on me 
Monday afternoon and I am going to see him Satur- 
day evening. Dr. J. wrote me a note asking me to call ; 
hardly think I shall have time to call there this week. 
Will go to a party on Thirty-fourth street to-morrow 
evening. I am feeling splendid and am in prime 
condition. This weather is just bringing me back to 
base-ball days as quickly as 5 or 6 o'clock can make 
me leave my bed. If I am down your way I shall come 
in and see you. 

Lovingly yours, 

Leon. 



New York. 
My dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

O! that I were what I should be. 

Then would I be what I am not, 
For what I am I must be. 

And what I should be I am not. 

Yours received. 

How glad I was to hear from you. From the very 
beginning your letters were a cheer to me. I feel that 
you have suffered a little disappointment caused by my 
delay in answering. Whenever this should happen, 
why, always think that the longer the interval of time 
the more is my mind taken up with pleasant thoughts 
of my dear loved one. I have been busy with one thing 
and another, looking over letters — unanswered letters 
six and eight weeks back. Now, I never used to do that, 
always responded promptly. But this must be in the 
eastern atmosphere — sea breeze, you know. They say 
eyes have a language; I rather begin to think that they 



50 

have. For the first evening that I had the pleasure of 
meeting you this queer idea was brought to my mind. 
I know that there is a language of flowers, but as to 
a comparison to the language of eyes it would be like 
Latin and Greek. This cupid is an artful little fellow 
anyway. I know he is innocent but so reckless. I 
remain, 

^lost sincerely yours, 

Leon. 



New York. 
My dear ^Irs. Hutton: — 

Did I answer your two letters from the 31st of last 
month? An epistle dated 31/ 1, I received yesterday 
at 7 P. ]\L Was just going out, so you see I was enter- 
tained on my way very pleasantly, indeed. You did 
not assuredly suffer a little disappointment caused by 
my delay in answering? It has been a long time since 
I have seen you. This won't do at all — will it? Not for 
my part, I assure you. I see you have had lots of com- 
pany — that's nice? ? ? I've got to copy again. This 
friendship is for a short time only, and so, while it lasts, 
we might as well be friends and make the best of all — 
oh you — dear Mrs. Hutton. During the course of 
yesterday afternoon I went over to the lake and took a 
little skate. The ice was just lovely. To-day I was 
kept too busy to allow myself any time for pleasure. 
My evening I shall devote to answering letters which 
should have been answered long ago — to the romantic 
West — a country full of song and poetry. Shan't I 
come on Saturday evening? I sincerely hope to. 
You may expect me early, provided nothing inter- 
feres. _ Permit me to reverse a sentence in your letter — 
now it's not copying. I do not know how badly you 
want to see me, I only know how badly I want to see 
you. 

Lovingly yours, 

Leon. 



51 

Oil! my darling: — 

Returned last night — Found your letter on my 
desk this morning — Left for Washington Tuesday 
night — Trip, including everything, very pleasant, my 
only regret being the limitation of time. Stopped off 
at Philadelphia for six hours. Professional business 
only, my love. How anxious I am to see you. Think 
of calling on my darling Saturday afternoon. How- 
ever, I partly think I can call Sunday afternoon, but 
fear that your company will be taken up with visitors 
who call less frequently than a certain doctor does. 
So this week may pass without ever getting a glimpse 
at the very pleasant countenance and the lips I have so 
often kissed. 

YouVe hoping that I am "well.'' Well, quite well, 
thank you; never felt better in my life. Oh, how could 
one feel different that can ever picture such a smiling 
face as I have met on the eve of December 26th? 

What happy and pleasant remembrances, so cheer- 
ing. 

Ta, ta, my loved one. 

Leon. 



Friday, 5.05 P. ^L 
Alice, my dearest: — 

Am delighted. 

Since you have stated in your epistle that should 
you not receive a message by Saturday morning you 
would expect me Saturday evening. 

I would like to say that you really cannot imagine 
how it cheers me even to grant you a few lines. I am 
almost certain that you will receive a note by Saturday 
morning and that it will not be a holograph which shall 
say — Xo, I cannot see my love Saturday evening. 

My dear, expect me: I will try and be there by your 
appointed time. \\\\\ be kept ver\- busy to-morrow, 
in fact, more so than to-day, and should I come a little 
late I do hope you will pardon me. 



52 

I must come, for you do not know how anxious 
I am to see you, dearest. On Sunday I am on duty and 
must stay in. Monday, Medical Society meeting. 
Tuesday I want to go to a dance. Wednesday, must 
call on Dr. S. Thursday, on Dr. H. Friday, duty 
again. Saturday I want to see— oh, you know who— 
oh, you sweetness. I am just looking at your picture, 
your photo; I like it very much, I just think it's 
splendid. The only way I can thank you for it is to 
present my photo to you. 

Oh! I must see you to-morrow evening. 

Next time I will write nicer. You will excuse me 
this time, my dear; they have called me twice. 

Yours lovingly, 

Leon. 



My dearest and sweetest: — 

Your delightful company I have longed for this 
evening. Friday seems so long to me, although I had 
seen my darling but yesterday. To think of our walk 
in the Park fills my heart with joy. Why, with what 
could it be filled otherwise? How beautiful and how 
charming you looked that morning! Can you imagine 
what thoughts flashed through my mind when I bid 
you good morning? I cannot recall a happier or 
pleasanter Sunday morning spent. How we were 
favored with such a delightful day as it was. What 
would Dickey Birdie say to a kiss in the Park? A 
splendid morning, a most pleasant pastime. Just think, 
in broad daylight, the lawn and waysides spotted with 
"blue" not violets but coats. What would this come to 
in a moonlight night? Did we care for anybody? No, 
nobody! I had about thirty minutes time yet when I 
left you at the L. Wish I had known it. Should I hap- 
pen to be down town during any of the afternoons this 
week I shall not fail to call on you. With the assurance 



53 

of my love for so dear and charming a cotHpanlon I 
can offer no other final than 

My very best love, 

Leon. 

6/21, 5.20 P.M. 
My darling Alice: — 

Your very kind invitation to hand. I just wish I 
had a little daisy here. "Shall I or shall I not?" You 
have already wasted a theatre ticket on me. I do just 
despise any waste, no matter what it may be. So nicely 
and so frankly and flatly you refused my invitation to 
Brighton Beach I shall revenge myself by accepting 
your ''dear" invitation to the theatre next Thursday. 
My darling, you are doing the superintending of this, 
so I shall just dance after your music, i. e., all what 
you do suits me. Oh! how bad you made me feel 
last Saturday evening. I was going to obliterate the 
messenger boy for not delivering the message in 
time, but I now think that I ought to obliterate 
myself for not keeping to time. Did you really 
know where I was going that evening, my dear? 
I will tell you when I see you. Yes, Dr. H. was 
kind enough to extent an invitation to supper to 
me. Regretted very much that I could not come, 
for I was in great hopes of going, but was com- 
pelled to send a messenger instead during the even- 
ing. The next morning Dr. H. told me that he had a 
very nice lady there for me. He also made mention of 
a certain Mrs. Hutton as my friend. What's up? But, 
dear, had I known that you would be there I would 
have made more certain arrangements some time ahead. 
Speak about moonlight on the Hudson — speak about 
fun on the Hudson (last Sunday's excursion). I am 
beginning to think there are some right good girls 
in the East. Dear, you have sent me two roses; what 
can or should they mean? Can I go by this every day 
flower talk? Well, I do not know whether I should ac- 



54 

Cept your invitation. Yes, I guess I will. I will try 
and be with you for a day or two in the mountains, but 
shall not promise at present. 

If at all convenient, would be pleased to call on 
you some afternoon before you leave for the mountains. 
You really do not know how I long to have a nice chat 
with you, my dear. If mountains and rivers were be- 
tween us it would and might be a different thing, but 
since there are but two score and ten blocks between 
us it can and will not be a dif^cult matter. 
Yours very sincerely, 

Leon. 



July loth. 
My darling Alice: — 

Yours from the mountains at hand. Did you think 
I was ever going to answer? 

Mountain silence made you think still more so, 
didn't it, dearest? Then another thing. I did not know 
how far you have to go to your Post-of^ce, for I doubt 
very much the existence of mail carriers in gray uni- 
forms. I mean those kind that get so readily accus- 
tomed to hieroglyphic and immediately suspect or even 
know from "whom" it is or might be. 

Well, that mail man is about as far ofif as the writer 
of this letter is — as you say, one hundred and thirty 
miles, ''kinder" far to think about, but when considered 
in reality it just takes about that distance to bring one 
where mosquitoes can't picnic about them. Darling, 
it has been hotter than beeswax in town. 

I have been wishing and hoping that I may lay 
myself down under trees and near laughing waters and 
chat with you as in happy hours ^one by. 

I am in strong hopes that such hours may come and 
tell me to go and search for one whose arms have now 
and then encircled me at midnight's hours in lovers' 
sacred dreams among the woodlands of the mountains. 

It must be a most pleasant search for this little 



ss 

cottag-e embowered at the foot of a hill, the clematis 
twining about each window and white roses scenting 
the doorway and there find my darling Alice listening 
to the choir of happy birds and enjoying the happiest 
and most delightful mountain scenery. 

How much I would like to spend this very evening 
with you, although I do not feel as I ought to. 

I know your presence would make me feel much 
better. 

A letter from home. Mamma has been very sick 
again for almost three weeks and has been growing 
worse those last couple of days. I almost feel like do- 
ing nothing. Your letter I must answer though. My 
mail has accumulated to such an extent that I expect 
to diminish my correspondence considerably. I just 
do wish they would quit writing. But I think it's all 
my fault — for whenever I am in good humor, i. e., 
writing humor, I sit down and write some four or five 
letters in one afternoon, and quite naturally get an 
answer sooner or later, asking all kinds of questions, 
and it just makes me tired. But that's the way women 
are. 

There I am away ofif, ain't I? — one hundred and 
thirty miles, eh? 

You say I should be as good as I possibly can. 
Why, certainly, darling Alice. Wonder if I'll come 
up? Am somewhat anxious to know myself. Dr. F. 
has got lots of time to freshen up now. I hope he will 
enjoy the mountains. 

You wrote your letter on the fourth of July, dear. 
Don't think you could have done it had you been in the 
city. 

The infernal din T ever heard on a day like that 
always made me feel like taking a train for some coun- 
try where fire-crackers and guns were unknown. 

This has been a very quiet day. I spent from four 
to six P.M. in Central Park to get tuned up by Cappa, 
but he only made me feel worse with pathetic music. 



56 

I really do not know how I am feeling to-night, 
but shall make a staunch effort to go to sleep. 

Now, dear, good night. Supposing this was in 
the mountains, what a difference there would be. 

Yours, 

Leon. 



My darling Alice: — 

Your pleasant little note accompanied by those 
nice little mountain flowers to hand. 

How very sorry did I feel that you could not hand 
them in person to me. 

It appears to me an awfully long time since I saw 
you last. Will it really be October before I can see you 
again? 

Is the weather really so cool that it will not permit 
you to look after "Home, sweet home," amidst the 
strong structures of a city, or will it really be as hot in 
the city as to compel me to drive up to the mountain 
cottage amidst song, poetry and solitude of nature? 

How is it? "Safe?" 

Dearest, your last letter was received and it made 
me feel real good. T — a makes me feel so anxious. 

The little paper clipping contained in it reminds me 
that whenever I said or used to say "Rats" I was quot- 
ing Shakespeare; well, that's all r'ight. 

Since you left the city we have been having some 
nice thunder storms. I say nice, because I like thunder 
and lightning. Some people do not. 

There is also some nice sea bathing. The hot 
weather kept me in salt water almost dailv for three 
hours, still I don't taste salt, it keeps me fresh, though, 
and keeps me from gettinsf spoiled. The other day 
It was pretty hot. I do not know exactlv which dav it 
was, for there were so manv of them. Well, I thought 
I would go and get myself a white elephant at Coney 
Island. A colleague and mvself started out in the after- 
noon with one of the "Iron" boats to look at that great 



57 

resort. We looked just too larky for anything in our 
bathing- suits. 

1 felt proud of mine, because it did not bag at the 
knees, but it bagged every other place. We faced the 
waves boldly, but my colleague always thought he had 
an anchor or something of the kind tied to him. Every 
time a real breaker came in it w^ould play hide and seek 
in his spacious and voluble suit. This was quite puzz- 
ling. I was always afraid some big stone would get 
lodged in mine, so I was very careful to avoid the 
larger waves. After we had inhaled all the salt water 
and air then we thought w^e had sufificient to give us 
some thirst for that Coney Island beer. We left the 
surf and strolled along the sand. 

Coney Island is a great place. This is only a part 
of my holiday enjoyment. 

Last Sunday I w^ent to Long Branch. Fortunately 
got caught in a storm, therefore had a nice time. 
At one time all on board gave up their hopes as the 
boat was about to be blown over on one side. The 
boat w^as scared very much, I think, for it creaked fear- 
fully. Twenty-live hundred people were as white as 
white ghosts. 

I felt all right, for I had one-half dozen life preserv- 
ers. Often I was thinking of Alice in the mountains, 
how glad she would be if I would not drown this time. 

Got home safe. Occasionally I go to the Polo 
Grounds. Let me know when you are coming home. 

I remain as ever fresh, 

Leon. 



Sunday evening, ii o'clock. 
My dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

A nice time to wTite. is it not? I w^ant to see you 
and I cannot, for you will have some company. Now, 
W'hen you begin to wTite — a w^eek aw^ay, seven days, 
seven nights — why, you make me feel as if it was aw- 



58 

fully long since I've seen you. Do you really know 
how badly I want to see you? ? 

From the contents of your epistle received Satur- 
day I see that you were on the ice again. How very 
sorry I felt that I could not have been with you upon 
the rims of steel. 

I was over about three o'clock 'in the afternoon, 
but only found a deserted pond, the ice partly covered 
with water, and marks upon the ice showed that but a 
short time previous to my coming skaters had been 
upon the pond. 

I think I saw a big semi-circle cut deep in the ice 
(similar to a Dutch roll) made by your skate. 

Mrs. Hutton, I will probably be kept quite busy 
the first part of this week, so if your leisure will 
come in about Thursday or some other day follow- 
ing, then I would be almost certain that I would 
not disappoint you, for I know if I do the disappoint- 
ment will be as much to me as to you — if not more. 

Regarding my photo I will keep my promise and 
fulfill it as soon as the photographer gets through 
with me. At present you can have my life size. 

And the flowers that bloom in the spring have 
nothing to do with the case. 

Yours very truly, 

Leon. 



My dear friend, Mrs. Hutton : — 

Nearly all day, excepting the time T spent with the 
sick, I have been in my room resting either in the 
easy chair or on my couch, thinking about the evening 
spent in Fairy Land. Like Wagner, so will I say to 
myself, "It was but a dream." Still I am thinking about 
the probability of such precious dreams. Is it possible? 
Can it be possible? and will it be possible? Well, I 
should say so. How pleasant it was that we both should 
dream the same dream. Now dreams will come true 
sometimes. Will this come to be true? This is what 



59 

frequented my mind so very much as I hurried out into 
the cold dark night deeply impressed with Fairy Land. 
It was about one o'clock when I got home. Feeling 
somewhat tired, I immediately went to bed, and in a 
very short time fell into a profound sleep. Those 
dreams, those dreams! 

Next morning when I awoke, 9.10 A.M., I lay 
dawdling in bed for about half an hour longer. Did I 
think of you? Wish I had had some one to tell them 
about Fairy Land. 

It is raining this evening. Rain is not half as 
charming as snow. Everything seems to be tinged 
with a sense of melancholy — not I, though — oh! no, 
that could never be if I tried. Wonder what you are 
doing this evening? I wish I could talk to you. I've 
been consuming about one and a half packages of 
cigarettes. After I have given you a kiss and embrace 
per letter, I shall hurriedly look through the wards 
and then go to bed. 

Was trying to read to-day; read a line about four 
times and then did not know what it was about. 

Believe me to be yours, 

Most sincerely, 

Leon. 



28/3. 
Oh! My darling! 

How very charming it is to receive so kind a mes- 
sage from a loved one asking to call and take tea *'en 
compagnie." I am only too glad to join you at tea, 
my darling, but if it can be to-morrow evening I could 
not state with any certainty. So do not be disappointed 
if I should fail to put in an appearance. Will try very 
hard, for I should be pleased to meet your company 
also. This is the reason. Two of my colleagues, as a 
rule, go bowling Tuesday evenings. I was to stay home 
to-day, but having received a letter from Dr. C, an old 
college chum of mine, stating that he will be in New 



6o 

York on Thursday and leave for Europe the following 
day, I had exchanged date with my colleague B., who 
was to stay home to-morrow night. So it happens 
that to-morrow eve will be a rather doubtful one for me, 
as it is very likely that I've got to stay at home. Never- 
theless I will not give up hopes as you cannot imagine 
how anxious I am and have been to see my darling and 
have a good chat with her. Oh! had I only known it, 
would not have changed for anything in the world. 

I've been down town ever since ii A.M. It will 
be late before I return home, so I avail myself of the 
opportunity to acknowledge the receipt of your kind 
invitation. At present I cannot wish for a more pleasant 
hour than the one I expect in your delightful company. 
How nice it is to take tea with so dear a one. Oh! I 
do hope that I can come. Then I will come very early, 
too. Well, should I be deprived of the pleasure I will 
call and spend the evening this coming Thursday. Shall 
the call be about 5.30 or 6 P.M.? 

My dear, excuse me, but you must have had an 
attack of this most horrible distress which so often 
afflicts women, the ''blues." I might be mistaken, too. 

With the assurance of an evening with you. 
Yours very truly, 

I remain lovingly, 

Leon. 

My darling Alice: — 

Just twenty-four hours ago — Ha — Ha — Ha — 'tis 
you and me. 

Our parting was not a Romeo-Juliet afifair by any 
means. Didn't you give me the "cold shakes" though 
— excuse the expression. 

You just did that too beautiful for anything. I 
can never forget it. To slightly look back and recall 
some of that "darkness" brings me in a state of aston- 
ishment. I am very much surprised at myself. When 



6i 

I woke up this morning I was still angry with myself. 
A beastly headache was my only consolation. What 
brought me "off" that way I do not know, but I must 
say this, I cannot recollect ever having been in so 
provoking a mood since I had the pleasure of your de- 
lightful company. Now, Mrs. H., I do not wish nor 
do I hope that you look at it in a wrong light. It is 
all personal and confided to a single person — "myself." 
The question, "what shall I do with myself?" will prob- 
ably explain it all. A time is before me that will prob- 
ably knock all happiness for some time into a cocked 
hat. I must now settle down to real work — work that 
shall bring me my daily bread. Should I not be success- 
ful it will and must be a case of try, try again. Yes, 
I shall keep on ploughing till I get in the right furrow. 
When I shall succeed, will probably depend more upon 
luck than anything else. You made me feel pretty 
cheap this night. Anybody could have bought me for 
ten cents, I think. Will see you soon. Good bye. 

Hastily, your 

Leon. 



My dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

It is now I0.02 P.M. This day I passed in closing 
up shop. When I last bade you good bye it was with 
the promise of a small note for this morning. Up to 
now that note has not come. It's coming, though, as 
usual not in time. Had lots of time to attend to such 
sweet and delightful business yesterday, but owing to 
the wandering of my thoughts tinged with home sick- 
ness of considerable quantity, I was not able to get a 
clear thought the whole blessed day. 

Happily to-day I received a telegram from my cou- 
sin in the afternoon asking me to accompany her to a 
Liederkranz entertainment, which I did, passing a most 
pleasant evening. Drank Pilsener beer till i A.M. 
This tuned me up in a different key, and to-day I feel 
much better. Will this note catch you out? Well, I 



62 

hope not. Recalling our conversation I faintly recol- 
lect having heard the word Brooklyn. This was my last 
day of service. I do hope they will let me depart to- 
morrow. How I will rest to-night I do not know yet; 
nevertheless there's no cause for horrid dreams and 
lots of cause for very pleasant Fairy-land thoughts. 
My dear Mrs. Hutton, pardon me for the brevity of this 
note, I shall tell you more soon. 

Yours affectionately, 

Leon. 



New York, 11/18. 
My very dear Mrs. Hutton : — 

Your most delightful invitation to hand this A.M. 
Although dated the 15th, my absence from the hospital 
accounts for the delayed response. My dear, you may 
expect me for tea, in fact, I shall try and be there as 
early as I can in the afternoon. I have several calls to 
make during P.M., but I shall cut them very short. 
Now, my darling, you must not weep as it would make 
me feel very, very bad. If you do, I fear I will be un- 
able to control my cardiac feelings which I have so long 
held in check by most strenuous efforts. 

If you do, I'll be a **goner," sure. 

Now, do not do it. We must talk of the past and 
only take into consideration most vivid conversational 
matters — such as jumping off the Brooklyn bridge, 
and the like. Don't think of my departure. Why, 
confound it, tell me I must hustle, pack up and go, 
something like that, you know, anything that will make 
matters lively. 

Expect me, my darling. Good bye. 
With December kisses, your 

Leon. 



New York, 11/26. 
Alice, my best beloved darling: — 

At last time has fully come upon me. It is to me 
a painful realization to even think of the past. Although 



63 

my hour of departure has almost come, yet I can hardly 
think that I am leaving New York and severing con- 
nections with a friend whose kind words have nestled 
in my heart. Yes, darling, to think of your kindness, 
of your pleasantries, is enough to make me feel heavy — 
very heavy. I have had several "partings," but to part 
with one is not like parting with another. 

I feel sadder than sad and can hardly control my- 
self, although I am compelled to smile to those around 
me. I would write no more, only I need but say I am 
up at the hospital to bid them good bye and take the 
dinner w^ith them to which they have so kindly invited 
me. I wish for you to be as happy as ever. When we 
will meet again I cannot say. Mountains and hills di- 
vide us. I hope God spares us that we will again see 
each other. I must see you again. How the West will 
treat me I do not know; will occasionally write to you. 

Now, my dearest, may God take you in his good 
care so that you may live long and be happy. Again 
I give you my hearty assurance that my sincere friend- 
ship for you could not have blossomed fuller. 

A last kiss. — Good bye, 

Your 

Leon. 



11/27. 
Suspension Bridge, Niagara. 
My darling Alice: — 

It is raining pretty keenly, thus adding more to my 
gloom. Have been viewing the Falls, Rapids and 
Whirlpool ever since I arrived at this careworn-looking 
town, 9.20 A.M. While writing these lines I am wait- 
ing for my supper. 

This is a hopeless place — no decent hotel or 
stop-of¥ place here. Inquired at four different places 
for supper, but couldn't possibly get anything warm. 
Will leave to-night at 12.50. Thank God, supper has 
come — ham and eggs. Wish some one was here to 



64 

sing that song to me. Made an attempt to eat, gave it 
up and declared my supper off — as hungry as ever. 
Indeed, a grand harmony with the lovely sight I had at 
the Falls. I'll content myself with cake till I get to 
Detroit, that via West Shore. I wanted to go that way. 
That our meeting there one pleasant summer afternoon 
was recalled I need not mention. My dearest, I left New 
York very much against my will and with strong hopes 
of coming back some day. To think of such a happy fu- 
ture has been and will be my only delight. There is no 
place like New York (excluding home for a little while). 
Will send these lines to you with so much feeling and 
liking for you as only you can know. May they find you 
in happier spirits and pleasanter mood than that of the 
sender. By George, since about two weeks I am not 
able to catch or hold a solid substantial thought. May 
be Western winds will fix me all right in the course of 
time. 

Yours very lovingly, 

Leon. 



,, . Laclede Hotel, 12/1Q. 

My darlingf Alice:— 

Wish I could just pour out my whole heart to you 
to-day— no, not only for to-day, but for the days that 
have passed since we met— days that were filled with the 
thought of what might have been. You see I am still 
addressing you as darling mine; although the days 
smce my departure from such a loved one as Alice have 
already seemed to me like years, yet I have experienced 
moments that impressed me as though I had seen you 
just the evening before. 

Am now in the city to make some calls— hope to 
be through by the time you may receive these lines, 
l^ver smce I have been home notes kept coming in 
somethmg like this: Have you returned?— do please 
call, etc. In some the words were slightly varied but 
the sense, of course, was the same, I do not know how 



65 

they ever found out I was home, for I did not stop ofi 
at St. L. at all and went right through home. While 
home I have been wandering around. Mamma was very, 
very sick. Papa did not feel well when I left his com- 
pany, and so it went day by day. I cannot express to 
you the happiness my presence brought back home. 
A wonderful improvement in Mamma. I wanted to ad- 
dress you long before this. Ere long you may expect 
a long letter, my dear. Several friends are waiting for 
me at the rotunda and they are getting very impatient. 

With sincere love and many Western kisses, 
I am your 

Leon. 

P.S. — This is my first note to New York since I 
left. I have not determined where I shall settle for 
practice. New York is very good as yet. 

Ta, ta. 

How merry a Xmas could I wish you, my darling? 
And as to the happy new year? If I were with you I 
know it would be a very happy one. 



Laclede 
My darling Alice: — 

Your very kind letter was forwarded to me and 
received yesterday. Do not at all intimate from this 
that I have "located," for I am still drifting, and in fact 
in St. L. Have come over almost a week ago with a 
seriousness more acute than in former times. Should 
I not be suited it will be a great disappointment to me. 
By George, everybody is advising me differently, some 
say, settle in this part of the city, some say I would be 
delighted with Kansas City, some say I w^ould be de- 
lighted with some other place, and all such talk. Never- 
theless, it makes it more exciting for me, as I intend 
to dwell upon my own judgment as much as possible. 
At the same time I care not to slight the experience 
of mv elders. I am exceedingly well pleased w^ith the 
neighborhood of Sidney and McMair avenues, and shall 



66 

eventually determine upon that locality. Hope so; 
once settled I shall have a friend of mine work me a 
motto — A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss — this motto 
shall hang in my office. Plague on that kind of business 
anyway. When I do settle I hope to keep right at 
it. My New York career has been here upon the 
books of my colleagues and I have never seen a more 
envious set of people than a set of doctors; still I was 
complimented on my success, my good luck, the 
splendid likeness in Dr. W. S.'s book, and all such 
things which would most generally go unnoticed in 
the East, to a surprising extent, so that I am thinking 
of keeping myself in a manner that may not reflect dis- 
credit on the East. But, bah, I am here, so that can 
hardly be worked to its full extent. Was to a ban- 
quet of the Alumni Medical College on Wednesday 
night; came very near not getting home at all. 

It was a splendid old time affair again with my 
old Professors and fellow graduates. Last night I 
attended the commencement exercises of the same col- 
lege. Sunday I expect to go home. Dear, the letter 
I promised to answer has not been answered yet. I 
will keep my promise and respond to everything I can. 
There are several points I would like to dwell upon. 
Your last letter on your way to Brooklyn was most 
assuredly written while you were in one of your very 
best moods. But the one previous to that — well, what 
of it? You must have been in love. Now, with the 
one previous to that, what was the matter with it? 

Everything mingling in itself. From the standing 
offer to the twenty thousand dollar young man — from 
marriage to a lead pill — my goodness, you are almost 
as in a looking glass. Now, dear, if you get your nerves 
strung up that way, you may not get them strung down 
again, and that is bad. 

I like everything excepting the lead pill, in fact, I 
never liked lead pills. Their effects are too exciting. 
Now, dear, do me the favor not to scare me in a similar 
way again. I made an attempt to answer those letters 



67 

before leaving for St. Louis but it was the humor that 
compelled me to desist. In your second letter you use 
a peculiar phrase where you remark: "1 do not know 
it all or else, etc."' I do not remember your exact words 
anymore — the letter is at home in my desk. That 
phrase twisted me. You must hereafter feel better, 
Alice. My thoughts are brooding seriously upon the 
weeks in the future and compel me to desist my lady 
companion's company for an indefinite time. Hands 
off — leap year — hard times, such short sentences will 
enter one's head occasionally only to increase the di- 
lemma. I am at times so very anxious to have a little 
chat with you that I generally resort to some active 
work to drive you from my mind. 

A picture that frames most frequently in my mind 
is the one summer evening I saw you sitting by the 
window watching the light, pull down its curtain and 
pin it with a star. That evening you were dressed in 
a very light garment, nicely embroidered like lace. I 
never could see your face sweeter than it was that even- 
ing. I often thought that you looked lovely in the 
Langtry, but the lawn and lace suited me better. I am 
a strong advocate of simplicity. To me that evening 
was the happiest I spent in your very delightful com- 
pany. You really looked queenly. This is the picture 
that is Inexpugnable from my memory. 

To spend another such evening with you is now 
my only wish. I will close with the promise of writing 
soon. Do not be disappointed at the interval of time, 
dear; I have not been regulated yet. 

With kisses and a cordial embrace, 

Yours most sincerely, 

Leon. 



At home, December 28th. 
My best darling, Alice: — 

All day long my thoughts have been mingling with 
the falling snow flakes. It has been snowing quite 



68 

heavily and I have been thinking rather heavily. Writ- 
ing to you brings me almost back to my second home. 
To spend a day like this in your very pleasant com- 
pany would be all I could wish. They were angelic 
times in the full sense of the word. Often have I 
longed but for one — no but for a few moments — Tiliani 
— i,ioo miles — it is quite a distance, I assure you, and 
while still in New York where my letters and missives 
had but a couple of blocks to travel for their destina- 
tion I would, if any interruption had prevented my 
writing to you, think, pshaw, I'll go and see Mrs. 
Hutton this eve and tell my darling in person. Quite 
different now, dearest. By Jove, but that's the way I 
have been feeling ever since I left my parental roof, 
or rather ever since I have been old enough. This 
makes me think that I ain't old enough yet, nevertheless 
you thought me an old timer — pardon the expression. 
I have a glass of punch before me that I expect to 
consume while cordially thinking of you and picturing 
my darling to be an angel in Paradise. Dear, to be with 
you to-day — pshaw. I hope to see you again ere very, 
very long. When I have settled I can perhaps make a 
pretty close guess at the time. I must see you again 
and spend so happily a time such as we had some of the 
evenings I called. My darling, I think I ought to have 
called oftener. Yes, and why didn't I? I just think I 
was right mean sometimes. I occasionally do think of 
those out of the way moments, and they do make me 
feel awfully bad. I hope it is different with you — cir- 
cumstances, thank God, were different, so that you may 
equalize those on your part. My darling, your letter 
I can only consider a rare pleasure. It added much to 
my holiday enjoyment. On New Year's day I will read 
it again. December 26th, — how well I remember that 
date. It will and can never be erased from my memory. 
As it now is it will continue to be as brilliant as some 
of the evenings we passed together; ever since I have 
been the happy recipient of this most delightful gift I 
have been meditating how I could ever reciprocate. I 



69 

know, though, that there will be a time when I can fully 
reciprocate. Thanks and thanks and a fond embrace 
is all that I shall convey to you in this letter. This is 
not the letter I intended to write — that one will soon 
follow. There is such a push, go and have-some-fun 
in our home. Brother A. always wants to go skating 
and is bothering me all day long so that I can hardly 
concentrate my thoughts. I have about two dozen invi- 
tations to new year's dinners, but I think I shall take my 
dinner at home. Central Park ice was not much good, 
still I enjoyed it a couple of times especially. 

A most happy new year to you, with loving kisses, 
dearest. 

Embraces from 

Leon. 



At home, January 20th, 
8 P.M. 
Aly best darling Alice: — 

It snows. 

The beautiful snow is falling 
Upon river and woodland and wold, 
The trees bear spectral blossoms 
In the moonlight sombre and cold. 

A penny for your thoughts. Yes, and I would give 
millions of them for your thoughts that have been 
thought ever since my darling expected a letter from 
one who left the East by mistake. Oh ! promiser, why 
art thou a promiser? Oh! negligence, why dost thou 
intrude? 

It's still snowing, cries the Belle. Dear how lucky ! and turns 
From her mirror to watch the flakes fall; 
Like the first rose of summer her dimpled cheek burns, 
"While musing on sleigh rides and balls. 

My darling: — 

If words 
Were birds 
And swiftly flew 
From tips 
To lips 



70 

Owned, dear, by you, 
Would they 
To-day 
Be Doves 
Of Love ? 
Yes ! 

I have before me two letters, one dated January 
3d, and the other January (?), both from a party 
from whom I parted by mistake. These two kind and 
dear epistles ought to have been answered long, long 
ago. Yes, long, long, long ago. You very well know 
and I remember it quite well yet myself that I came 
out of the horn at the little end with my apologies which 
you claimed were manufactured, very much to my disap- 
pointment in success. So I shall be very careful in bring- 
ing before you my excuse this time. I will offer an ex- 
cuse, you know I will, darling, and you know, too, 
that if nothing would have interfered, your kind 
epistles would have been answered to your wish. 
Your disappointment is my bitterest woe. I 
regret very much that it just happened as it 
did. So, after I had again read a few loving words 
on a separate sheet: ''Write to me about once a week" 
— my, my, my — and this going on the third week — 
makes me feel as though I wanted to fall into an ever- 
lasting embrace to make up for lost time. Do not 
think this sarcasm in any sense, for I fear that while 
you may read this letter something of that nature 
may pass through your mind; so permit me to recall 
it to you before further injury is done. Darling mine 
is somewhat partial to that expression anyway, judging 
from happy past times. 

Dear, I am as frank as a man can be, at least I think 
so. What I say I hope will not lead to any mieasiness 
as to its true meaning. You may believe me that had 
I been at home or at any place where I could have had 
access to a mail box, a response — one such as I always 
sent to you (from my heart) would have reached you 
in due time. 

Guess where I was, dear? Out camping — not in 



71 

the Far West, nor in the deep cf the mountains, but 
over in old Okla Bottom, some forty miles from home. 
Back into old times, not quite in the scenes of my 
childhood; but in the scene of advanced boyhood. For 
two weeks I have stood the frost and cold uniil driven 
out by blizzards, but this was only fun; still my com- 
rades thought different. Two years ago I went to 
the same place with my same comrades, old-time 
schoolmates, to camp and enjoy the winter scenery 
(there is not much of it, nevertheless we make scenery 
to suit ourselves) and hunt. I mean do some real, gen- 
uine hunting, with real genuine guns, kill ducks, geese 
and turkeys. It is a pleasure, I assure you. How musical 
the whooping of those confounded owls (opera), how 
melodious the shrieking of raccoons (tragedy), and how 
harmonious the whistling of the northwestern winds 
blowing through the branches of the forest trees. Still 
it was nice. I enjoyed it, so did my dog. Were you 
ever lost in the woods at night, dear? I was. It's de- 
lightful, especially when you have strong hopes for 
sleeping all the night and are obliged to keep yourself 
awake by felling trees, logs and shrubs, to insure your- 
self against being frozen during the night. The 
moon and all the lakes looked too beautiful for any- 
thing that night, but the effect it had upon me was 
notably small. I used to look at the moon and recite 
poetry, but that night I excused myself. The owls were 
unusually lively. I kept firing at them whenever I had 
the slightest provocation. Their college yell did not 
recall Yale or Harvard. At about 5 o'clock in the morn- 
ing I ran up against our tent, very much to my relief. 
That night I was looking for some music from the ting- 
ling brook, but the brook was frozen up and so was the 
tingling. I recollect of a slight tingle in my ear. It 
was the cold that did it, I think. Mamma used to tell 
me that whenever ears tingled somebody was thinking 
good of you. That might be so, but where is the some- 
body that would think good of me? Why I can hardly 
do the job myself. Well, that was my luck to get to 



72 

camp. For three hours afterwards a blizzard of the 
most pronounced type came directly from the north. 
It kept us busy, for our tent went to pieces. ShoveUing 
snow was a pleasure. 

Of course, we had to have something to amuse 
us, so we kept shovelling out snow from our tent that 
we might get to our beds towards night. This blizzard 
brought along lots of ducks and our guns sounded all 
day long with results of a most killing nature. Oh, but 
cold! My! cold enough to freeze me out of a year's 
growth. It was the coldest camping I ever experienced. 
At times we would not dare go out for a short hunt for 
fear of being overtaken by a snow storm with un- 
pleasant results, that is getting frozen to death. If we 
could not hunt, we could certainly eat, and as we 
gathered about the great fire toasting bacon at the 
end of long sticks, with ducks in the pan and smoking 
cofifee right from the fire, we agreed that dining was 
one of our favorite occupations. While thus in camp 
we would prepare our wood for future use, and had al- 
most succeeded in cutting down a small forest. There 
was nothing small about us. I think the woods must 
have been lighted up for miles around. It was glorious, 
with our feet to the fire and well wrapped up in blank- 
ets, with my dog by my side. But it was not so glori- 
ous to wake up in the night and be obliged to renew 
the fire with an entire tree that we might sleep in com- 
fort. And it was not at all glorious to find at daybreak 
the fire out and frost all over our bedding. There were 
no flies on us. But some frosting, dear, worse than 
frontier life. For two weeks we enjoyed this. The 
night before we left it began to snow, and in the morn- 
ing my friend who received the nomination as fire- 
maker, through a game of freeze out, got up to enliven 
the fire and came in with a small tree saying it was cold. 
We all agreed with him after getting up and taking in 
the morning glance of the day. I came to the conclu- 
sion that it might rain ere long, and as a critic in the 
hunting Quarterly pronounced the day an elegant one 



73 

for the purpose, we started out and bagged enough 
turkeys for twenty Thanksgiving and enough ducks for 
as many more Sunday dinners. 

At about three P.M. we returned in a Hght drizz- 
hng rain. This rain changed hands with sleet occasion- 
ally and showed itself as good for all night. During 
the night we almost froze in our beds and in the morn- 
ing — that was a very early morning, 4 A.M. — we were 
up and about, everything covered with snow and sleet, 
so that we could hardly find enough wood to cook a 
meal. We hinted strongly to each other to get up and 
go. But as we all liked the idea it came out slick 
enough, and we went, and why? Why, the river froze 
up right before our eyes and we could not find the axe 
lost in the snow. Now for the wagon to haul our truck; 
it was five miles ofif. Two of us went for it. Our next 
railroad station was fifteen miles ofif. This was the 
toughest of all my times. In snow, rain and cold — all 
acting in harmony upon those poor hunters — but we 
got there slightly frosted. 

Home again. Your two letters greeted me and 
Mamma said, ''Here are two letters that undoubtedly 
need answering, they came the day following your go- 
ing out hunting." Other mail was in my drawer. How 
this happened is funny to me — Mamma holding these 
two letters as long as a player holding four aces alone. 
I inquired why she did not have those letters with my 
other mail, and here is what mamma said: 'T went to 
the Post-ofifice in person that day when these two let- 
ters came for you, and thinking they were letters you 
most wanted, I kept them, thinking should I be at all 
lucky they must be letters you cared for more than 
others. So I took care of them." I had to laugh and re- 
marked that she was just right. Brother Owen usu- 
ally tends to our mail, so this was just an exceptional 
time. Well, by 10 P.M. I was back home. Of course, 
I had lots to say, my dear. I think this my last carnp 
out and shall now make only short hunts on rabbits 
besides going skating and sleighing. 



74 

1 have lots of time for anything. There is an ele- 
gant track out here in the country, as fine a one as I 
have ever seen. Just now it has an icy covering. The 
snow of to-night will make it beautiful. Mamma told 
me that during my absence I had lots of invitations to 
old time country sleigh rides, i. e., start from one place, 
have a dance at another and the sleigh ride between. 
Do you see how, dearest? The river is frozen and looks 
like glass. I am going over to St. Louis to-morrow 
to get some toboggans. Will try and arrange a skat- 
ing party on our river for next Thursday. Shall stop 
off at Thomasville and invite all my young friends fond 
of the poetry of nature. Oh! but for a moment, dar- 
ling, could I only be in that sitting room before that 
grate fire but for a while just now. 

Well, I expect this party to have a fine time. This 
town of ours is a very hospitable and jovial place and 
not at all a stranger to the guests to be invited. For 
many a time have they sought its surrounding woods 
for pleasure and only pleasure, happy to be remem- 
bered. This brings freshly to my mind Central Park. 
To now cling to your arm is my longing, skate or not 
skate. I think if I had those times over again I would 
be somewhat different. We could have had times more 
pleasant on the ice than we really did, oftener, any- 
way, I may say. That beautiful and poetical park. 
There went the beautiful month of May when you had 
promised me a walk that was never walked. You see, 
my darling, I have lots and lots of time to think. There 
is not a day passes that you do not appear to me in some 
way or form in my mind. And so the most pleasant 
pasts mingle with pasts whose moments were really 
less pleasant than they seemed to be. As I have been 
away from home half of my life and now returned, I 
expect to remain with papa and mamma for a short in- 
definite time yet and then make preparations for my 
future. 

I will find enough occupation to utilize my time 
valuably, i. e., outside of entertaining Pa, assisting him 



?s 

in his practice and following my own enjoyments. 
Many times the question has been put to me since my 
return, how I could accustom myself to such quiescence 
after living in New York so long? That is very easily 
answered, and as far as that is concerned I have not 
accustomed myself to life in such a way that I cannot 
accustom myself very easily to any place where this 
current of life wafts me. I do not hope that it will at 
all impress you that I have made an attempt to support 
myself in medicine in St. Louis. I shall try, and if not 
successful shall vacate at short notice. Still I always 
entertained strong hopes and always ''settle to move." 
I expect to visit New York occasionally. A happiness 
that now has possession of me is that whenever I shall 
come to New York I will make my home with my dar- 
ling during my stay. 

I do wonder if this is the long letter I wanted to 
write to you, I wonder whether I wrote you of the 
delightful time I had coming home. I do not remem- 
ber. I will not tack it on now if I did not. Still one 
remark I shall again pass, that is what a charming 
companion I had from Hamilton (Canada) to Detroit. 
A stop over from lo A.M. to 4 P.M. proved to be a 
very pleasant one and helped to drown some of my 
"blues." Another pretty companion cheered me on my 
way from Chicago to St. Louis. In this way my trip 
seemed to be dotted with little incidents of a happy and 
pleasant nature, wearing ofif some of the moroseness 
that had been hardening me. Before I will, bid you 
good night, my darling, I wish to answer your kind 
letter more directly, for I have been crowding these 
sheets with so much backv/oods talk that I fear it will 
be of little interest to you. 

In my next letter I shall be a little more considerate 
and write you all about my old girls, how they received 
me, and how they like me, what they want me to do, 
and what they do not want me to do, the parties they 
are going to give me and all such truck — excuse me — 
there it is again, I did not mean that word, I meant 



76 

''niceties/* Well, you will not write until you hear 
from me-that is right. "Du heim"— now, that's regular 
Western talk, ain't it? Yes, I had to go out in the woods 
or two weeks to again accustom myself to this life and 
living. It s a fact, and if the next two years does not 
hnd me back in New York I must have struck a snap 
1 agree with you that our affairs were a failure A 
merry Xmas to you. Yes, my dear, some and even 
many, very many, convey this, a most cordial wish to 
parties for whom their admiration has bloomed into an 
everlasting bloom— not by mere words alone, be thev 
written or spoken. -^ 

I see from all the many beautiful presents you re- 
ceived that you could do without an "outsider," dar- 
ling. So you are going or rather went to Trenton on 
the loth of this month. A letter-my! this touched 
a very soft spot in me; it makes me feel as bad as 
though I were invited to a Liederkranz dance I exoect 
you were very much surprised not to find a letter on 
your return home; however, my darling, you need not 
orgive me for this time, the letter is coming. Probacy 
this letter will come in time for the opening. Yes I 
wish I could be there instead. Your letter was a mist 
encouragmg one to me, and I have been thinking much 

nnXr^' Tl ''' ^f^ >^^" ^"^^ h^"^^d to me of your 
indertaking I know I must have changed my mind 
before I left, providing that mamma's health^ wouM 
have permitted my stay. You really do not know, dear 
est, how I fe t when leaving New York. Often since 
have I been m the blues. 

How I do wish to see your new tea gown. Keep 
It, dear until I come. If too long for you, wear \tiov 
yourself but for nobody else, understand, and have a 
new one when I call. I know I shall like it, for you 
know my taste. That flush gown a la Langtry is a 
beautifu la gown as I have yet seen, and you Tooled 

waT 'w7 "t';v^V^'^. 'T '''^^' ^ff ^" ^ --^t love V 
way— When I think of that evening you were thus 
gowned.-(I know I made a mistake^ I should have 



17 

stayed until Xnias anyway.) Oh! white silk and lace 
— (lecollctte — amethysts and sapphires! Oh, you angel, 
you, my dearest bijou, come and let me kiss you — I do 
miss you so, and more to-night while I write to you — 
oh, I want to see you so much. Your kindness I shall 
ever remember and have it stored away in my heart. 
Now, good night, dear. Be good to yourself, and 
believe me to be with a fond embrace, 

Your loving 

Leon. 



At home, February nth. 
My dear Alice: — 

You receive so very many letters from me that I 
suspect a surprise on your part. As you again see by 
this Western looking sheet, I do manage to get one up 
to my very dear friend occasionally and tell her that 
occidental air has not turned too strong on me yet, 
although I always wish it would blow me up tow^ards 
the East to stay. Whether I have changed some since 
I left New York I can hardly say with any certainty, 
but they tell me I have. As far as Western customs are 
concerned one will pick them up — en passant — and 
almost without knowing it, too. There is a lack of aris- 
tocracy in our Western cities, but as time passes and 
the association becomes more frequent a Western citi- 
zen may soon find himself aristocracized to the full ex- 
tent. For instance, they w^ill never catch cold in St. 
Louis on account of forgetting their canes — they don't 
carry any. Parade gloves are about as scarce as snow 
flakes in summer. Low-necked dresses are only worn on 
retiring (to sleep). I know of a certain gentleman who 
wore patent-leather shoes on the street only one time; 
after w^alking about two blocks even the wearer did not 
know that they were of patent leather. If some of these 
old fogy capitalists will die ofif, so that the money can 
get square and slick into the young chaps' hands, then 
we will get some nice Sunday streets. Yes, just as I 



78 

said, one will again accustom himself to such oddities 
—the only difference is that it takes somewhat longer 
if he's been east for any length of time. Now, I've been 
there, and it's just like jumping off the East River 
bridge for me to exist in the great inland town — it's 
every one for himself, with the hope of getting 
there. If I am not mistaken, this is a second letter to 
my darling since Xmas. Now isn't that mean? When I 
left I felt as if I must write one every day to you — now, 
how is this? It is very nice to depart from a loved one 
with such a happy idea and retain it, too, and even nicer 
to inform my fair lady correspondent of it. Oh, I am 
always frank to my "Li Liani," knowing she will for- 
give me. Forgiving is the loveliest and the very 
pleasantest language of love. Did you turn a new 
leaf, Alice? If you did, why, turn it back. I thought 
I would turn one and did so, too, but turned it back 
again, ever since my last letter to you, that was when 
I came home from camping. I have been thinking my- 
self that the way I do and must utilize my time is about 
as funny, agreeable and pleasant to me as I could wish 
under the circumstances. Could I transform this 
speckled programme into color it would give a grand 
variegation, and any one not used to it might suddenly 
die of color blindness. One day will find me at home 
doing all sorts of things I should not do, the next day 
I might be out in rural districts or in the woodland 
with the dogs and fowling piece. By the way, Alice, I 
have five splendid dogs. Would I trade with your dog? 
That dog of yours should get the prize for eating — 
pardon me — I do not at all dispute his beauty, grace 
and accomplishments, and am very much inclined to 
believe that he will get a prize. He is a beautiful animal. 
Well, to continue, some other day I must be out on the 
river rowing. If people could see me they could easilv 
picture a rising Hanlon in me. Still I consider myself 
a strong oarsman. Other days will bring me to St. 
Louis, Belleville or some other surrounding country 
town. Not on business, but on pleasure. When at 



79 

home I generally do most of the talking, and a little 
brother of mine does the most asking. He is a con- 
tinual drag around me, and much of my negligence I 
owe to him. Although yet a young chap he is almost 
five years ahead of his time. It's quite a time since I 
had myself so taken up. Judging from the struggling 
temperature Winter's a kinder loosing his hold. All of 
the last week we had a slight touch of spring. Bill Nye 
most assuredly would have gotten out his straw hat. I 
had great times those days. Got out my saddle and 
made calls on rustic maidens. Quite a number gradu- 
ated before the holidays and remained at home. Dear- 
est, you would be surprised to see how "New York'* 
draws. Just like candy and flies. People out here say 
they never knev/ of so many parties having taken place. 
I do not know of any time wdiere moral quiescence 
teamed with so many gatherings of vivacious damsels — 
the very juice of nature, sweetened with the fragrance 
of woodland violets, strong, stout and rosy. Some, 
having been educated in the city seminaries, have lost 
nothing of their "home familiarity." In St. Louis it's 
quite different. I generally go over in the morning 
and return the same evening; otherwise I go over on 
professional business which generally keeps me three 
to four days. The difference between a city and coun- 
try damsel in this part of the country is not very marked. 
The former is more reserved when out, but every bit 
as w^ild w^hen in confidential company. Accomplish- 
ments and refinement predominate in the city lady, but 
when it comes to rosiness of complexion, etc., the 
country girl comes to the front smiling and oftentimes 
displays rows of pearls that place those of the delicate 
city mademoiselles in a shady repose. I very often 
make mention of this to some of my lady companions, 
but they do not approve of it at all and are always wil- 
ling to change the subject. Rocky Mountain air or 
several weeks at the sea-shore does not influence city 
health to any considerable extent. I have always been 
in favor of spending childhood's days in a pure, beauti- 



8o 

ful country and after their termination to resort to a 
city, provided there is an object in it which would give 
said being in the city something to Hve for during the 
rest of his existence. 

I know of a certain lady who grew stout in a com- 
paratively short time. She not only grew more stout and 
m.ore fleshy, but more beautiful. What a beautiful 
shape — straight as an arrow — those beautiful arms 
and those tiny feet! I very often wish and long for 
them. The pictures varied as they may have been all 
fresh in my memory. I wish I could kiss your sweet 
lips right now. I have just gotten out your dear 
epistles. I keep them stored away in the drawer for 
fear they might lead me off the track and make me 
think of things too pleasant to digest at present. Let- 
ters dated January 25th, and February 2d. Before I 
proceed to answer several of your interrogations per- 
mit me to say that with the epistle of February 2d, I 
received a most lovely photograph. Wonder what you 
were thinking about when you had the same taken. It 
is splendid! How well you look! I am so pleased with 
the attire for the occasion. Your visage is as lovely and 
kissable as ever — even more so. But, dear Alice, do 
you not think that the smile enters too much into a 
laugh and thus affects the eyes to a rather undesirable 
extent? In pictures they naturally will be smaller than 
in nature, strong smiles affect them more so; still, if 
the artist had but given you a pose slightly in- 
clined, your head downward, the picture would have 
been much better, i. e., an improvement in its superb 
work would have been noticeable. I must now rush. 
They really worry the life out of me. Glad you feel 
tip top. Midsummer nights' dreams on the Hudson — 
a beautiful theme for a novel — won't you write one? 
I must confess I do not understand Dr. G.'s expression 
about the young M. D.'s being a drug on the market. 
Alice, you say you have lived longer than I. How 
much longer, pray, may I ask? Now the servants 
sleep down stairs. I really do regret that such a change 



8i 

(lid not take place in i8 — . Darling, I must stop with 
I he hope of conchiding before long. 

Thanking you most sincerely for your kind re- 
membrance, I remain 

Lovingly yours. 

With a kiss and embrace, 

Leon. 
N.B, — About coming in May, permit me to make 
mention of that in my next letter. I want to see you 
as badly as probably you do me. — Ta, ta! 



At home, March 24th. 

Afternoon at 1.25. 
My angelic Alice: — 

Come, gentle spring! ethereal mildness, come! It 
takes a ''woman" to say that. Why? Simply because 
there is more poetry in this dreaming longing than it 
really deserves. 

The last three days were wrapped in one continual 
spring shower. It is now raining a drizzling rain, just 
enough to keep me indoors, although a little water like 
this could not interfere with my outdoor doings. I had 
already booked Saturday afternoon a week previous, 
rain or shine, to be devoted as a conversational one 
between my very sincere friend Alice and myself. Of 
course, it's my time to talk now. I know you would 
not at all hesitate in saying: "Yes, it is, and it has 
been your time to talk for the week past." Oh, that I 
am — why am I to be so negligent. What a bad habit 
procrastination has become (I guess I'll quit it?). No, 
but dear, every time I begin to address you I go fishing 
around for an apology. Confound such a fellow, any- 
way. He knows he's doing wrong — two "wrongs" 
make a "right" (my motto). If at first you don't suc- 
ceed (my coat of arms). But, Alice dear, I must tell 
you that ever since I left East my time down here has 



S2 

been a really speckled one. In delay I have been sooth- 
ing myself by thinking that in your indulgence I will be 
forgiven. For the future I have been contenting my- 
self with the hope that I may become more punctual. 
''Write once a week to me, dear," "wake me early, 
mother, dear, etc." It's so nice — well, then, why in the 
world don't you do it? 

Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend! 
Spring poetry and winter romances are incomparable. 
This is my first letter to you in spring, dear. With it 
my friendly attachment comes to you as though 
it were but a fresh spring. All seems so fresh to me. 
How can I think 'tis almost four months since. 
Time is passing fast. It makes me pace the floor of my 
room at times. Still there is no reason for it. I am 
ready for the plunge at any time. I fear nothing, but 
still I am feeling as if somebody were holding me and 
keeping me where I now am. Yes, 'tis true. It's the 
place where I spent the days of my childhood's sunny 
days — home — and that is what holds me. To leave a 
home and to make a home (for yourself). They teH 
me I have time. Oh, yes, but how much? I enjoy 
notoriety. I love the city. Almost half of my time on 
this earth is past. I expect to do a great deal of hust- 
ling during the next half. How long it will take me to 
get there I do not know. Nevertheless I expect to keep 
the dust ofif me. I am feeling almost as gloomy as the 
day looks. Since my last note to you I have been re- 
maining at home doing this and doing that. Have been 
kept quite busy assisting papa in his practice as this 
change of weather always keeps doctors more or less 
busy getting people's "air boxes" in good working 
order. Do not at all infer from this that I have 
settled. I am only relieving Pa of some work, that's 
all. For this reason I have not taken out any license 
as yet, for Ill's, a little brother of mine who was taken 
sick with diphtheria in December while attending St. 
Louis school, causing his dismissal from school for the 
rest of the season, utilizes considerable of my personal 



83 

time. He is very anxious to get into the Polytechnic 
this September and thus draws upon me for knowl- 
edge. This is a great pleasure to me. I never had my 
faculty as a tutor judged, but know this much that it 
gives me pleasure to instruct and that my instructions 
are appreciated. This puts me in mind that while yet a 
"kid," the kids appointed me drawing and painting 
teacher. We would assemble at some boy's home, 
bring our paper, pencils and paints along, and draw 
whatever suited our taste. This was the way we spent 
our Sunday afternoons for over two years. I have 
tried to follow a programme by properly dividing my 
time, but can not do it. Who is to blame? I! Last 
Sunday played my first game of base ball this season. 
It was a model day and a model game. I felt as lithe 
as ever. The curves came as natural as ever. It was an 
enjoyable day and I wished for some of my **Deutsch*' 
colleagues. I hardly ever play ball on Sunday, but 
when the day comes I am very much inclined to feel 
like the little boy who went fishing on Sunday and was 
met on his way home by the Parson who spoke to the 
little fellow, saying: "^ly dear little boy, are you not 
ashamed to go fishing on Siuiday?" The little fellow, 
holding his fish up to the Parson's nose, replied: 
"Ashamed! Why, look at them!"* 

Now I feel very much like this little boy, dearest. I 
have been fishing this season already, caught an eel 
and a big catfish. With me it is not so much the fish- 
ing as it is the getting up and having a spin on the 
river. I must have something to pull me out of 
bed at 5 A. M., two dozen lines generally 
does it. I kept it up until overtaken with a 
snow storm, when I was compelled to discontinue 
for fear of getting snow boimd. What a lovely time 
N. Y. had during its snow storm? I'd have liked to 
been there. Surely I would have been snow- bound at 

Xo. . Do you know that a peculiar sensation 

passed over me when I read the day and time? I 
could not help feeling snow bound at Xo. . X^'ow 



84 

that would have been a picnic. Just imagine some of 
those times you told me to go, to hustle off, and then 
to find myself snow bound. Things like that didn't hap- 
pen in 1 8 — . I thank you, my dear, for the papers you 
have sent me — enjoyable reading, indeed. What thril- 
ling experiences! How narrow the escapes — money no 
object. That snow man was great. I envied the party 
that danced all night on the Staten Island ferry boat. 
What a hint to the young man that said, *Tt's too late 
to go to sleep now," and the fairy chipped in, ''besides, 
we have no place to sleep." The day of the blizzard 
I was in the woods looking for violets. I was disap- 
pointed and found but leaves. It was a warm sun and 
I went in my shirt sleeves. What a contrast! Here 
spring in its glory, there the scowling face of winter. 
This last expression will give New Yorkers who are not 
acquainted with the Far West an insight into how 
people are dealt with a little west of St. Louis. There 
was no monkeying about that blizzard. From the news- 
paper accounts one can see how ignorant these Eastern 
people were as to the danger of such snow storms. 
Why, such people would be frozen to death the first 
winter out here. That people are not accustomed to 
such ''shows," can be seen by the description of the 
blizzard. They are only regarded as trivial affairs out 
here — hardly any mention made of them — light snow 
storms. I would not have been surprised if some of 
our Western folks would not have ventured out for a 
sleigh ride. Well, it has not been very long since our 
thermometer got disgusted and dropped down to freez- 
ing point. A nice little snowfall followed, covering 
everything excepting the ground which was too moist 
to retain snow any length of time. In the course of 
eight hours there was no more snow. 

Looking at the woods from a distance another 
characteristic sign of spring may be observed — a mist 
of a greenish tinge marks the top of the woods — every- 
thing is budding. I noticed that more closely the 
Other day when I chased half a dozen snipe. 



^5 

Alice, how you do pun! Let me now devote a 
little time to answering your very kind epistles received 
at various dates. 

Do I remember a nail in my shoe? How very 
well! Oh, had I but a nail in my shoe every time I 
was to leave your delightful company. Yes, a dozen or 
more of them. You once remarked that you really 
did not know why Doctor E. does not tire of you? If 
Doctor E.'s feelings are such as, or similar to, mine, it 
is then quite easy to say why. To me your company 
grew more interesting every time I called. It was 
one of my most consoling pleasures to but think 
of calling on you before long. While in your company 
I felt happy and surcharged with an excess of joy. 
With all those unpleasant and disagreeable happenings 
at the hospital, which, by the by, are unavoidable, your 
presence always made me feel as though I had 
experienced nothing but pleasure and gratification, 
when it had been just the contrary. Nevertheless I 
hope that this may not be an excuse for not calling 
four times in one week like a certain party did. Now, 
Alice, you remarked that this was more than I had ever 
done. To give you my frank response I must say that 
any man who does that without having any serious 
intentions has a monumental **gall." Still, if based 
upon encouragement, it can be considered nothing 
else but a compliment. 

No, Alice dear, I never ran up my record to that 
height. I think if I desired, too, I could beat that 
record with ease. Dear, what did you do to that twen- 
ty-two year old lad that said, "I love you?" He is a 
sensible man so far as that is concerned, but as for giv- 
ing all others up, I do not think him politic at all. 
Quite a surprise — always to be appreciated. I hope 
your new undertaking will not interfere with your hours 
of pleasure. Do like Commodore Perry, who, fatally 
wounded, cried out: "Don't give up the ship! Don't 
let yourselves be driven to the wall!" Standing ofifers 
and lead pills are uncomfortable. Never mind the 



§6 

latter — consider the former. Most undoubtedly you 
must have been shghtly indisposed when you wrote 
that. Could I only have pressed a kiss on your lovely 
lips at that time. 

I had a dream which was not all a dream — Byron 
said that. He was a splendid fellow. I dream quite 
frequently of you — happy dreams of having you by my 
side. Still I would like again to dream a dream and 
know it beforehand. Oh, I have hopes, great hopes, 
for the time to come. I shall prepare myself for it, and 
when it has come it will be "heavenly." I have a sheet 
before me without any date. From its contents I can 
readily guess at the date. Here is the clew: "You will 
get this letter just one year from the day that you 
had the chill." The night you gave me the ginger 
tea — eh! Three more letters, amongst them the last from 
March 12th, will be responded to some time in the near 
future. 

Before I close permit me to state that your last 
epistle made me feel very happy. To see you would be 
a rare pleasure to me. How anxious for such a meet- 
ing I am, I can hardly express with words. Should 
you reach Chicago with some spare time for St. Louis 
during your trip, just inform me about what time you 
expect to be in the city, and I will be with my darling, 
but should I have located during the former part of 
y\pril, I will of course let you know. Will try and get 
the photograph you asked for, dear, as soon as possible. 
My regards to A. Remember me to Mr. R. Regret 
very much not seeing him before I left the city. 
With kisses and embraces, 

I remain yours lovingly, 

Leon. 

Do not fail to come to St. Louis if you should go 
to Chicago. L. 



87 

St. Louis, April 22d. 
My departed darling: — 

9.30 A.M. Have returned to Hotel. Oh, what 
a change! Your sweet voice, music to me, I can no 
longer hear. Your lovely face and graceful figure have 
disappeared from the parlors. With you, my darling, 
all loveliness has vanished. I must leave as soon as 
possible, for staying longer would be suffering to me. 
How I feel I could not tell you, dear. Why does your 
presence charm me so? In your company I feel like 
an embodiment of happiness. How I do regret that my 
train did not leave at the same time yours did. I don't 
care to stay a second longer. I'll go and return to the 
Okla and there wait until the worst has blown over. 
I'm no good for another tw^o weeks. Mr. R.'s kindness 
I can never forget. It was an act beyond any recipro- 
cation. And, as I have said to you before, shall remem- 
ber him in my prayers. Darling, you came so far to 
see me. How very nice! I love you more than ever. 
I shall most assuredly be up East to see you at my 
first opportunity. Until then I shall remain true, faith- 
ful and firm to you and only you. By this time you are 
out of sight of this city where the heart of a Western 
lad has been made joyous with the company of the 
dearest friend. 

To love you, my darling, and love you dearly and 
earnestly is the happiness of your 

Leon. 

P.S. — May God keep you in his best care. Good 
bye! My head feels as though it were swimming. 
Hastilv but verv fondlv, 

L 



At home. May ist. 

In the beautiful month of May, etc. This month 

has been regarded by poets as the most beautiful — it 

will hardly be disputed by those who are non-poets. 

A year ago found me in active service far away from 



88 



home. Often had I wished that this year would find 
me in the same city if not in the same place. I could 
hardly say that such a change was brought about in 
my past altogether, still I think that a more serious con- 
sideration of my future might have somewhat altered 
the present condition of affairs. Not at all regretting 
my very pleasant stay at home, I may go as far as to 
consider it a loss of time for me. This might materi- 
ally have shortened my starving time and, as I know, 
has improved my very good health, not to mention 
the splendid time I spent in the fields, woods and on 
the rivers. It has already made me tired recalling the 
innumerable times that I wished myself back in the 
metropolis, yet every time I found some cause in which 
I could mingle consolation, in which I could drown 
my regrets for leaving. 

The first of May was the fixed date when I ex- 
pected to be equipped for my duties of life. I desire to 
be my own self, my own boss and my own everything. 
Have had enough of supervision— can't paint these fel- 
lows m the brightest colors. It is not at all pleasant to 
sometimes recall scenes and incidents of that nature. 
I do not care a continental how I am treated when 
supermtending myself, provided they will not let me 
hold my breath too long. I can quite easily and very 
readily accustom myself to the customs and habits of 

the public, but I'll be if I am going to turn blue 

in my^^face, as my friend says, "rather take to sawing 

^ >> ^7^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ passed I expect to be 
out. My parents are not of French descent, so if 
nothing interferes I will not be detained any longer. 
1 am not going so very far— can return at short notice 
and within an hour. This is not so terrible. Quite 
often has it been a question to me why I hadn't long 
ago been placed in a gilt-edged frame. From to-dav 
on the law will protect its game. My dog Leondo will 
be very displeased, I know. Since at home he has been 
an early morning visitor to my sleeping apartment, 
looking after the interest of a day's sport. Seldom 



89 

that he was disappointed, even if it was but a short 
hunt in the meadows for jack snipe. It's all over. He 
may go along to fish now. Brother T. was out to spend 
Sunday with us. He came Saturday night and re- 
turned Monday morning. Sunday afternoon a game 
of base ball was contested. The side I pitched for was 
defeated. I can only attribute the loss to myself and 
feel sorry for playing that afternoon. Why do they not 
let me alone when I do not care to play? T. was all 
smiles. The greater part of his time was spent in talk- 
ing about a certain lady from New York, a late visitor 
to St. Louis. He is simply delighted. I do not know 
my brother's kissing abilities, but think they are every 
bit as good as those of his rivals (so I heard) ; still that 
New York kiss must have made him feel somewhat 
different. At least it made him quite talkative, some- 
thing unusual with him, on the subject of ladies. There 
was no surprise expressed at all — this somewhat sur- 
prised me. I was often told that my backwardness 
was much to my disadvantage. Experience teaches, 
or better, makes perfect. Yes, my dear; T. spoke in a 
quite ardent tone of you. I really do not know what 
a longer stay in St. Louis might have accomplished. 
He told me those are the kind of women he likes. 
During the conversation he informed me that he had 
received a note from you. Something quite puzzling 
he found in that note. Now I could not guess what that 
could be and felt like Adelia Harrison, "as in hot 
water." Asking what it could be, he showed me the 
signature. T. did not know what to make of it, as I 
had always addressed you as *^Miss," talked to him 
about you as "Miss," and in fact never let on as to a 
"Mrs." Your signatures on the back of your photos 
were those of an unmarried lady. Mr. R. addressed you 
as "Allie," of course the title for a Miss, and all such 
little things bearing on that prefix. T. furthermore 
told me that I knew all about you, asking at the same 
time who you meant by the name of A. — the name he 
had heard several times was A. In response I told T. 



90 

that I did not know enough about the party in question 
to answer his questions, and that the young man he was 
referring to was probably Mr. H.'s brother (this is an 
extract from one of your former letters to me when a 
lad of twenty asked you about your brother). 

Now, my darling, I could never permit the thought 
to enter my head that you were ever a married lady. 
In spite of all this it would sometimes occur to me, 
while enjoying that delightful company of yours, my 
mind would suddenly dwell upon that subject, and I 
assure you I felt very much provoked. Really I do hate 
to write about all this, but I've got to. I do not care 
to be too evasive in my answers. "How do you address 
your envelopes?" was another of the many questions 
put to me regarding the Miss or Mrs. "Did you 
ever kiss Mrs. H.?" is another. If that "osculation" 
had taken place anywhere else excepting in my pres- 
ence, I think such a question would never have been 
put to me. In response I said that I had given it up 
for a bad job long ago. 

My dear Alice, I did not feel good at all yesterday 
afternoon. I lost that game and would have lost 
dozens of them on account of that "Miss" as a prefix. 
I told T., the best he could do was to make a direct in- 
quiry and thus find out. At my request he will send 
you his photo at the earliest convenience. Brother 
thought he could get more satisfaction from me than 
he really did. Alice, dear, did you tell him that I had 
three of your photos? T. wanted to see these three 
photos. I showed him but two. Don't show the third 
to anybody on account of the writing on back. Even 
I, when looking at it, fail to read what is written there. 
Now, dear, you will plunge me in sure enough. I shall 
always tell the truth hereafter about my best girls. 
But I'll be switched if one can sometimes, and then 
for my part I would not care to sometimes. How glad 
i am that you made that remark regarding A. in your 
letter. It makes me feel real good, and I am going to 
stick to it. Will drop this subject now, it makes me 



feci worse than yesterday. Thinking of this and that 
pleasant time together in St. Louis, I can only com- 
pare to eating sugar and salt together. Pshaw! I am 
going to abbreviate this letter. Wanted to continue, 
but my mind is a regular cyclone. Little things like 
these bother me very much. My darling, in your m- 
dulgence vou will excuse me, I know. Will write to 
you soon 'again, and then take your very nice letters 
into consideration. This will give me a chance to re- 
cord them again— one of my pleasantest pastimes. 
Regret you are feeling so out of sorts. Darling mine, 
I want you to be very, very happy. Kiss me now, and 
ril bid you adieu. 
By, by! Ta, ta! 

Yours lovingly. 



L. 



Kiss me. kiss me quickly, love! 

Where the fragrant 

Vine and vagrant 

Winds your window ledge above. 



My taste differs, and I w^ould rather be kissed 
slowly than quickly. There is very little satisfaction in 
lightning kisses. 

It seems to me like kisses wasted — 
Tlxp pleasure's gone before you taste it. 
A greater joy. a sweeter bliss. 
Lies in the long and lingering kiss — 
The melting kiss, as we might say. 
That fairly takes your breath away. 
Will you agree with me in this, my best beloved 
darling? 

Your 

Leon. 



Saturday, i P.M. 

By the river side. 
Dearest and sweetest of friends, Alice, my darling:— 
For you to be with me this afternoon would be a 
divine pleasure to me. The day is a typical May day— 



92 



all is smiles. At ii A.M. I started out with my dog, 
a Gordon setter, and crawfish enough to last a week, 
and paper and crayons to amuse myself between times 
in sketching. I do long for you, my most precious, so 
much. I am enjoying everything that nature presents, 
strong imagination almost conquers me. I can almost 
believe that life makes dreams of us— not an event that 
passed between you and me has escaped my wandering 
thoughts. Oh, those romantic visions and pleasantly 
painful sensations that were once so true almost compel 
me to close my eyes in thought. Dear me, I am just 
dying for an embrace. This is as delicious a seclusion 
as I care to be in. All is sweet silence excepting the sob- 
bing of the breeze among the trees and the vocal and 
multitudinous chorus of the birds. These are not 
at all in any way intrusive. Looking at the river 
one might suspect that it was one for beauty only, so 
placid and clear is this streamlet. Yonder stands my 
boat motionless as though it were afraid to move. No 
smoke from puffing steamboats blurs the sky at this 
calm spot. It looks like a deserted paradise which I 
would so love to inhabit with you this afternoon 
All these pretty clumps of trees with their cooling 
shades and the clusters of flowers that fling their per- 
fume with every passing breath of wind would be far 
nicer to me could I have you here with me, Alice dear- 
It is a longing from my heart. I expected to do 
considerable sketching, but I shan't. This lovely after- 
noon I shall devote to conversing with you. Just wish 
that I could always feel as I do now. Dearest part- 
ing forever is a peculiar thing for any human be- 
mg, how much more so for him whose life has con- 
sisted of beautiful plans and nearly everything but 
realized hopes! Longfellow must have had excellent 
reasons for saying: 'Tell me not in mournful numbers 
life IS but an empty dream." Have I ever experienced 
a Similarity? Well, no doubt I have. 
.1, . 2^' ^^" dear little birds, give me your lovely notes 
that they may gladden the heart of one! Oh, dear forest 



93 

give mc but one of your thousand sunbeams that I 
may be happy! Oh, dearest Ahce, give me but a kiss and 
I will forget my sorrows! My darling, I am not at all 
a poetical thinker. Wild violets flower by the river side 
and tell me no tale of modesty. Fishes flaunt and dash 
the water into ripples, but this does not promote dream- 
ing and yet in those days when a kiss from your sweet 
lips was a question of a few hours I never thought that 
it once would become a question of time. Alice, you 
are a very dear woman ; I love you, and as I might con- 
sider myself a big school boy, yet it does seem so 
feeble only to say that I kissed you. Ah, really time 
tinged with roseleaves and bright moonlight! I re- 
member your lovely figure in a light dress early one 
summer evening as well as though I had seen it but 
a night previous. Do you recollect how^ I saw you after- 
wards, my dear, almost too good to think about. That 
dear room, only to have had a look at it while I was in 
New York. When I shall see you again my modesty 
shall be turned into sweet sincerity. A clock will 
not be forgotten that love may love on time. It will be 
angelic time. How I long for it you can but faintly 
imagine, dearest. To think about any time passed in 
New York and the time I might have passed to a period 
rather indefinite throws me into a state of extasy every 
time. If I did know how long I expected to stay, why 
did I not call to see you oftener and earlier? It is 
characteristic of me that I have almost come to allow 
professional matters to mar my pleasures to some ex- 
tent. 

But what can not a graceful figure and a face 
equally lovely as yours conquer at sight? Dear, you 
really do not know how often I left the hospital natur- 
ally feeling as though I ought to consult some of the dif- 
ferent authors as to my cases on hand, and when in your 
delightful company all was divine. How happy I felt. 
The touch of your hand was enough to make' me forget 
all that and think only about the lovely woman I was 
with. I never will forget your first kiss. It was angelic, 



94 

indeed, a most happy recollection. I do not think an 
evening has passed nor a morning come since I pressed 
my by by upon your lips in New York that I have not 
passed away several minutes of my time thinking of 
you. You have become to my wandering thoughts 
my wandering love. Thus I wish I were an angel this 
afternoon. Darling Alice! In the letter prior to this 
you have undoubtedly observed that I failed with my 
initiatory address to you. It happened under peculiar 
circumstances. In a letter to me you signed yourself, 
''Yours religiously, Alice." Now, I wanted to address 
you as "my religious Alice," but became somewhat 
averse to it, though I thought I would consider it in 
the course of my writing and come to a conclusion at 
the close. Well, I had almost finished when an accident 
case came in (cut with a circular saw). I finished in a 
hurry, sealed the letter and handed it to my brother to 
mail. In the evening about 9 o'clock, while reading of 
Dr. R.'s expedition, I said to myself of a sudden: "Con- 
found my head, I forgot that heading anyway," and felt 
like going to Hades. I assure you, my dear, I did not 
like it a bit. It just happened with a letter the contents 
of which were rather unpleasant. This made me feel 
as if I wanted to add to its unfinished tone — Do 
destroy that epistle, please, Alice. 

In one of your letters, dear, you remarked that you 
were convinced of my being good. Well, I hope so, 
and that you have been for some time, although you 
expressed your doubts to me several times. You are 
wrong, darling. 'Tis strange but true regarding our St. 
Louis experience I think you acted very wise, i. e., I 
will now say that you have changed me, dearest; but 
let us not go to the devil, let's go to a base ball match. 
I remember that you were so interested in the national 
game. How nice of you to send me those papers. From 
them I have learned to throw a new ball called the 
jump ball. I can throw it quite successfully and will 
try it to-morrow when we play the Morris Club. I'll 
think of you and win. To think of base ball now and 



95 

the time we little kids played turn-ball, the remotest 
ancestor of base ball, makes me smile at the nice old 
fun we had. There were about a dozen of us to start a 
game of ball. This was our fun in town, more base 
and less science. We would make our bats from old 
fence boards and buy a hard rubber ball. There was 
none of the foppishness of polished bats and comic 
opera costumes in those days. Turn-ball required a 
uniform, and the uniform generally bare feet, and the 
costumes were various. We had no grand stand, but 
the school fence answered the purpose well. We played 
with a bat like a paddle, and the striker ran 
around four bases, while the outsider fired the ball be- 
tween him and the bases he was running towards. Thus 
we were crossed out on one count — or hit with the ball 
if the thrower was a good marksman, and the harder 
he was hit the more fun. First base was out, and so 
over the fence he would go. The umpire was a thing 
unknown, and points were settled by thrashing the 
other side. A decision thus arrived at was always 
satisfactory and there never was an appeal. My boy- 
hood's sunny days — gone. Alice, dearest, this morning 
I received the present you spoke to me about at the 
Southern. I was wondering and accusing myself of 
several wrongs. Why you took the cup back to New 
York with you I cannot think. It is a magnificent 
piece of china, and to me it shall be a cup — id's quiver. 
Now I must row home after hooking and baiting my 
lines. I am catching fish in great style, having what 
the little boy calls lots of fun — two and three on one 
line, and they do pull. Well, homeward bound. By 
by, darling. Take the very best care of yourself. 

With a kiss (oh, any amount of them) and an 
embrace from 

Leon. 



96 

Oct. nth. 
My darling Alice: — 

That deah boy o' yours received that dear letter. 
It took an October breeze to waft it thither all the way 
from the mountains. I am so glad it came. Say, Alice, 
I think you cruel — weren't a-going to write to me any 
more. Now, I like that. If you stop writing, I'll con- 
tinue. There's a little park, not far from my office, 
and this little park is to me a thermometer. It just tells 
me how the woods now look, and I fancy that I can 
about judge how the woods which surround Alice look. 
The trees are nearly all stripped of their leaves— they 
looked naked. The nuts are ripe, the squirrels are gay. 
I haven't been home for so long I do not know how 

matters are out that way. My friend S was telling 

me the other day that he saw more of me while I was 
in New York. That's nice. Alice, dear, the U. S. do 
not consider me a citizen. I can't vote, the officials won't 
register me. This is rough! Twice registered— once 
in St. Louis and once in New York, and still no citizen! 
I am a Republican. Yesterday I was told by a gentle- 
man that I had an honest face. I told him that I was a 
Republican. He thought so, too. I like the present 
President, don't object to him at all, but then, you 
know, if the ostrich— stork I mean to say— would drop 
a baby in the White House— if only Mrs. Frances Fol- 
som Cleveland would get a baby— it looks so bad. Oh, 
he can't stay there any longer. I regret that I cannot 
swell the Republican majority by one. I could go back 
to New York and vote. At one time I did think seriously 
of domg so. Had I visited you on the ist of this 
month I would feel pretty bad to-day again. You only 
allowed me ten days, you know. From your letter I 
judge that you are still building. Why are you enlarg- 
mg your house there? I am now certain that you will 
remam a mountain sylph. At one time I was hoping 
that you again might wend your way to the city gaye- 
ties, etc. That part of your letter I would endorse 
most heartily— "you are still thinking and dreaming of 



97 

me." Well, I am so o:la(L Such compliments I can 
always fully reciprocate with my warmest cordiality. 
An hour of all the happy hours to-day. Yes, rii^^ht now 
would be my sunshine this dull day. ^To-day two years 
'd^o I left Phila(leli)hia for New York. It was there 
where I passed such pleasant hours. Oh, such happi- 
ness! Let me close with a kiss and loving embrace 
for you 

From, very truly, 

Leon. 

ONE YEAR LATER. 

February 28th. 
My dear friend Alice: — 

Why such a silence? The echo of your last word 
to me has almost disappeared — so long has it been. 
My last note to you was from Ft. Worth, Texas. Upon 
my return to St. Louis (almost a week later) I was in 
hopes that I might find a cheering note from you. Why 
is it thus, Alice? What have I done? In your last 
letter you spoke to me of "forgive and forget." 
I am always very willing to forgive, but how can I ever 
forget? That would be almost out of the question, 
my dear. That you are still in the mountains I am not 
so very confident, nevertheless I will address this mes- 
sage there, to your mountain home. It happened to 
me some wrecks ago that I dreamed you married a 
very wealthy business man of N. Y. — ? 

Such dreams do not come often to me. But dear, 
w'hy do you not write to me any more? It worries 
me, for I do not know what to make of it. Do please, 
Alice, if you have changed your address and this should 
reach you, send it to me. I will always be glad to drop 
you a few^ lines if the intervals are a little lengthened. 
I expect to change my address soon. As to where I 
am still in the dark. 

With a kiss, I remain. 

Yours most sincerely, 

Leon. 



98 

March 7th. 
You know 

There are moments when silence prolonged and unbroken, 
More expressive may be than all words ever spoken; 
It is when the heart has an instinct of what 
In the heart of another is passing. 

Dear Mrs. Hutton:— 

Your long looked for letter came to my hands last 
night at II clock; at that time I had returned from 
a dinner and chess tournament at Dr. B.'s. It proved to 
be a harbinger. I am still provoked about that dream of 
mine. On the succeeding day I told T. of the same 
and in return he told me in broad smiles that he 
thought my dream would come true. I told him I 
wished it could. His smile now assumed larger dimen- 
sions, and I became emphatic, insisting upon an ex- 
planation for all such ''grinning." Now, didn't he have 
easy smiling and lots of fun at my expense? Why did 
you do that, my dear friend? It seems to me that T. 
received the "news" about the same time I mailed my 
letter to you. He then of course told me all about it, 
after having kept me in a state of most anxious delay 
for over half an hour. So my very dear friend will join 
in wedlock soon? I was somewhat surprised at the 
news and felt again those indescribable sensations 
creep over me that robbed me of all my manliness when 
I bade my dear Alice adieu. 

Why should I be surprised? I knew that such a 
long silence must be indicative of something. It glad- 
dens me to know that you have chosen. Your taste 
I have always admired. Such charming women as you, 
my dear friend, do not remain unassociated very long. 
I hope you will be happy, very happy, and that nature 
will bestow upon you his precious gifts. His happi- 
ness will again bring you back to the city. Oh, New 
York, the place of my happiest hours spent. How I 
do love that city. It will not surprise you if I tell you 
that I might be back soon. I am determined to make 
that city my home, and shall as soon as I am able to 



99 

leave St. Louis. Still I am meeting- with considerable 
disapproval, especially from home. This too is what 
is preventing me, as I think it unjust to place myself 
so far away from a most dear circle under the present 
circumstances. I have reference to my dear father, 
who has not been enjoying very good health for some 
time past. 

My friend, I am handicapped in almost all of my 
undertakings; something always seems to undermine 
my most valuable opportunities, coming to the sur- 
face at the least expected time. I am an unfortunate 
chap. I see it more and more every day, and the sooner 
I leave this city the better. 

Have my very best wishes for your future, my very 
dear friend, and believe me to always be 

A most sincere acquaintance, 

Leon. 



May 19th. 
Mrs. Alice Hutton. 
My very dear and esteemed friend: — 

Several stray sunbeams peeping in through my 
car window found me wide awake this A.M. I say 
stray simply because the heavens were hanging full of 
heavy dark clouds, and the earth showed signs of hav- 
ing been visited by rain. Before I arrived in St. L., 
heavy rain drops began to fall, ceasing, however, within 
an hour. I came very near failing to reach the Y. 
depot in time last night owing to a delay immediately 
at the approach of the swing bridge. My springing 
tactics assisted me in getting there as the train was 
rolling out. Alighting on the last sleeper, I found my 
way into the chair car where I took up my abode for the 
nigiit. Disposing of my shoes I fell back in a comfort- 
able position and soon became enveloped in happy and 
unhappy thoughts. My sleep was disturbed at short 
intervals, so much so that I envied the party imme- 
diately in the rear of me who had been carried away 



ICX) 

in deep slumbers shortly after the train left Chicago. 
Thus I dozed and thought and grieved till I left the 
car at B. S. in St. L., when familiar objects and sur- 
roundings assisted me in crowding out some of my 
thoughts that seemed to have been chiseled into my 
brain. I am now back again, having once more filled 
my soul with a happiness that only Alice can arouse, 
and will probably start for home this evening where I 
shall finish all my necessaries preparatory to my de- 
parture at the end of this (next) week. 

You will occasionally hear from me, my dear 
friend Alice; changing of your name will not prevent 
me from sending to you a line or two. After my arrival 
in St. L. I again longed for Chicago and thought to 
myself, why not stay one day longer — Sunday? But 
then — such feelings are always in possession of me. I 
had to go, another day would probably have again found 
me like a ship upon a high sea — with its rudder lost. 
I myself could feel that the time that has passed be- 
tween our meetings has not found any change in me. 
My fondness — my esteem, may I say love? for you 
is the very same as it has been since I first had the 
pleasure of an introduction that unforgotten evening. 

I have handed your letter to T. He seemed very 
much pleased and will write to you. T. has been very 
inquisitive, and I answered all of his questions as well 
as I could, and he of course says, as he always does 
when a point is not made quite clear to him — that he 
could have done better. 

I will now excuse myself, and with my most cordial 
wishes for the best, remain a 

Very true friend, 

Leon. 



June 13th. 
Mrs. Alice Hutton. 
My very dear friend: — 

This will be addressed to the mountains — to me 
but a mountain echo. I presume you will by this time 



loi 

have finished, and successfully, too, I hope, your busi- 
ness matters that called and detained you in Chicago. 
It, too, shall sail under the name by which I have so 
very pleasantly known you, though by this time I fear 
it is changed. Well, my dear friend, these are some of 
the ways of life, and I must forget those that have 
weighed upon me most heavily. My visit to Chicago 
has impressed me more than I thought or hoped it 
would, and although business consideration overcame 
the impulse, it remained but a question of time 
when they would pass off and leave me at the 
mercy of thoughts excited by a friend, the charm of 
whose grace and character, the nobility and loveliness 
of whose life, is enshrined in my heart and hallowed 
in my memory. During our acquaintance, which I 
dare say was not any too long when "circumstances" 
found it their duty to call me back whence I had come, 
you have been to me the synonym of goodness. I was 
once more a happy man when I could catch your ex- 
pressive eye, and place my hand in yours with the 
words : I am indeed very glad to see you, my very dear 
friend, Mrs. Hutton. 

If such a pleasure were only granted to me oftener! 
Let heavy sighs speak for themselves. I am stationed 
at B — , Cal., where I have my central office. From this 
point I am out on the lines of the B. R., in accordance 
witk my profession, almost daily, going North, South, 
East and West. I am indeed very well pleased with the 
"fast" business. This city of B has some ten thou- 
sand inhabitants, is a most fashionable place both day 
and night and awfully independent. Nearly all of the 
society belles have had smiles for the stranger, but the 
stranger has not yet found himself inclined to return 
such compliments. This of course gives a somewhat 
"freshly" (excuse the slang, Alice) appearance to the 
town, not to say anything of the impression it makes. 
Amongst the faces there are some as pretty as a pic- 
ture, or more naturally speaking, as a peach. In some 
respects the conduct of these fair ones can be excused, 



102 

for 1 really think, to use the words of some one else^ 
"they can't help it." It's a great social place, and every- 
body knows everybody. Half of the time I am away, 
and that suits me. 

You will kindly accept my dearest regards, and 
believe me to always be 

A most sincere friend, 

Leon. 



M., Sept. 26th. 
Mr. Robinson. 
My dear Sir: — 

With these lines I expect to introduce to you my- 
self, hoping that at some future day I may have the 
pleasure of meeting you in person. A card bearing 
your name together with that of Mrs. AHce Hutton, 
followed by the word "married," reached me some time 
during the middle of August. I regret that I could not 
extend to you my congratulations in person. I have 
had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Hutton through the 
kindness of Dr. F. during my stay in New York, and 
must say that you have chosen a most noble woman 
for your wife. Some four weeks ago I was called to 
St. Louis and during my leisure time called on my 
brother. He procured a photograph from his desk 
and asked me if I recognized a certain party in 'the 
picture. I certainly did. Mr. Robinson, if not ask- 
ing too much, would you care to present me with a 
like photograph? At present I could only reciprocate 
with my best thanks, but I assure you that when hymen 
bestows his happiness upon me I certainly shall remem- 
ber you. 

Trusting you will appreciate this in the spirit it 
is written, I remain. 

With greatest respects to Mrs. Robinson, 

Yours very truly, 

Doctor B. 



103 

Friday, April 5th. 
Mrs. Alice Hutton. 
My esteemed friend : — 

Please allow me to thank you for the kind notes 
you have since sent me. I was indeed pleased on re- 
ceipt of every one, and more so on hearing of your 
safe arrival at home. Alice, dear, permit me to ad- 
dress you thus regardless of the prefix on your card. 
I have been thinking about you a good many times 
since I have had the pleasure of meeting your charm- 
ing personality, knowing well I ought also to give up all 
thoughts of you as you remark, but I hope you do 
not mean it, Alice! I must recall our good bye. Why 
did you not favor me with a slight intimation before 
you kissed me? I would have enjoyed the touch of your 
lips so very much more. It was so sudden, "don't cher 
know?" but by the way, did not the doctor give you 
a talking to. about it? What did you do it for anyhow? 
Alice, I am inclined to think that I ought to write to 
you quite differently, and I am certain my big brother 
would censure me of assuming this style of address. 
But I cannot otherwise, so forgive me, please — oh, yes, 
let me tell you. Last Saturday I took a trip home. I 
spent Sunday with the doctor and folks. Had a nice 
time fishing. Regretted very much we could not take 
Alice with us. Played ball, and the doctor pitched the 
ball during the game, and he pitched very well, although 
our side was defeated. 

Now, Alice, I shall close as I have some business 
correspondence to attend to. 

With hopes for an early opportunity when we can 
meet again, and in the mean time I shall trust you will 
not keep your word and let it be your last letter. 

Sincerely, 

Theodore. 



104 

Dear Alice: — 

A pleasant good morning to you. 

Here is my likeness. Accept it with my kindest 
regards. If you will kindly remember me with yours, 
I shall thank you for it. 

I am longing for a glance at good Alice's features 
agam. Your letter made me feel wonderfully good, 
cannot consider it a ''Rip Van Winkle" letter— it 
counts. May I ask you what impresses you that I do 
not think very kindly of you? Why, the very idea, as 
I said before— you're a love. The doctor is in the 
city. I am writing these fev^ lines to you at my desk 
and thinking of when I first met you right here. Would 
write rnore, but am too busy, Alice. Write to me again. 
Here is a kiss for you from 

Theodore. 



Ai- J May. 

Alice dear: — 

You are at Chicago — that is very near, and yet 
so far. Any prospects of your striking St. Louis? T 
hope so. Am worrying to see you again. The doctor 
will hug and kiss you for me. Sorry I am so engaged, 
otherwise I would see you before you leave. However! 
I wish you all happiness, wish you long life and 
prosperity in your new venture. May the bird be 
blessed with a good husband. 

Lovingly yours, 

Theodore. 



... , May 22d. 

Alice, my dear: — 

The pleasant news in your little note has made me 
happy and, believe me, I was so overcome with joy to 
think that I am to see Alice again that I could not 
sufficiently concentrate my thoughts to write you until 
now. 



105 

Cheerfully I will spend the time stated with you, 
regret only that the suspense is so long. How are 
you? Heard you were not looking as well as usually. 
I hope you are not worrying yourself. The doctor left 
for home Monday evening. I took him to the depot. 

Well, Alice, I want you to get this to-morrow 
morning, so I must close with my best wishes to you. 
Write me again, Alice dear, and tell me when you are 
coming, the train and hour. The doctor intends leav- 
ing us in a few days for California. 

Good night, dear, 

Theodore. 



7/1. 

Alice, my dear:— 

Got your note this A.M. Was overjoyed to know 
that you are so near me again. You know I had no idea 
where you have been for a long time, and now I want 
you to sit down to-morrow and write me a decent let- 
ter, telling me all about how^ you spent your time East, 
and where you have been, and where I can see you 
on the fourth. I intend going home to stay until the 
fifth. Heard from the doctor on the 23rd. I told him 
Alice was back, and it surprised him. Said he would 
be glad to see you again. Alice, dear, I am going to 
take a two weeks' vacation in August about the middle 
of the month, and I want you and w^ant you badly to 
come out and go home with me and stay that long. 
Will you do it? I am dying to see you again. Am 
feeling much better than when I last saw you, and have 
been blaming myself ever since for leaving you to go 
to that one-horse town, Thomasville. How are you 
feeling? and are you still worrying? Alice, write to 
me often, and do not write so big, it takes up too much 
space and paper. 

Yours, 

Theodore. 



io6 

July 15th. 
Alice dear: — 

Times without number to-day, what thoughts, 
only you can recall them. What a good woman you 
are Alice! Indeed a good woman! What wonderful 
control you possess. I think only me you could treat 
that way. I cannot forget that laugh of yours — that 
was the happiest (you recollect it must have been 
five A.M.) and the most cheerful and the sweetest, 
right from the very bottom of the heart laugh I ever 
heard or will hear again, dear! May God bless you! 
Repeat that laugh when you spend the first night with 
him, and if he has any tender nerves, he will take you 
in his arms never to let you go. I have heard from the 
doctor, and he is O. K., and from the tone of his letter 
seems content. I am glad he is finally settled and is 
favored with chances to earn a little money. I sent his 
letter home to-day. I think he will write to you, Alice, 
for I know he has some love for you. Remember that 
you are to send me a photo of yourself and husband. 
Do not forget, and keep me posted where you are, for 
I may want to write to you again. 

So, good bye, dear, or rather good night, and may 
God guard you safely to your destination. 

I am lovingly yours, 

Theodore. 



Good luck to you to-day! 

Alice, dear! The nice letter you wrote me! I 
liked it. It pleased me — also had the desired efifect. 
Oh, how sad it makes me to feel that I cannot look 
into your lovely eyes again. Next week you will be 
gone — gone where? Perhaps thousands of miles away! 
Well, you simply are somebody else's, dearie! Sorry 
I cannot write you in return as sweet a letter, time is 
too short. One thing, Alice, I want — a remembrance 
from you, something to keep, something to last as long 



107 

as I live to remember you — from Alice — for you are 
too good to forget. 

With a kiss I am yours, 

Theodore. 
P.S. — I shall kiss the baby for you, Sunday. 
Alice, if you will write to me Sunday (one more letter), 
I will get it Monday A.M., and believe me I will be 
looking for a letter. 
God be with you! 



TWO YEARS LATER. 

August 14th. 
To my dear Alice: — 

Even if it is just a line, I write to you. I must 
write once in a wdiile. Did you know, Alice, that the 
doctor is sojourning in Europe to attend Medical Con- 
gress in Berlin? I expect he will return next week on 
the "Werra." Oh, I so wish you could see him. I" 
want him to kiss you "only" for me. 

With kindest regards from 

Theodore. 



February 2d. 
My dear Alice: — 

It's just too long since I have heard from you, 
and I have almost forgotten your address. So I address 
this note to the mountains. Alice, please write to me 
just as soon as your thoughts drift westward. I will 
send you those photos sometime. I hope you are well. 
Please write soon and tell me all about yourself. 
Is it cold where you are? 

Kiss from 

Theodore. 



February 4th. 
Alice, how are you? O.K., I hope! If you will 
send me your address I will send you those photos. I 



io8 

mislaid it and don't know whether this will reach yoit 
or not, my dear. Let me hear from you. 
I am with much love, 

Your friend, 

Theodore. 



Philadelphia. 
My dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

You never said anything about writing, but I can- 
not resist writing you a few words to-night. How 
I wish I could have kept you a little longer and talked 
more with you. I had such a good time with you and 
my heart's desire was to be with you and is yet. Will 
you pardon me for writing you without permission? 
Don't tell if I tell you, will you? and trust you to be 
my friend? My engagement is broken off. You told 
me the truth when we sat on the sofa together. I am 
sorry to say I won't have one place to go on my vaca- 
tion. I only have a week now, from the 23d of this 
month until after New Year. The bridge, the bridge, 
the beautiful bridge! I learned to think so much of it! 
Oh, my kind friend, Mrs. Hutton, I won't dare to write 
any more now until I hear from you. None of the 
little newspapers saw me on Sunday night last in the 
storm, but how my heart leaped to be alone with you. 
I am looking forth to the time when I can see you. I 
am a poor writer, as you will see, Mrs. Hutton. Don't 
think I told you any fibs — I thought you did not believe 
me as I was telling you, but it was all true, and if it is 
not true I will clear out of the country. Now you are 
all alone; no one else to think of. Will you give me 
just one thought? 

With much love I close, and good night from your 
friend L. 



New York. 
Mrs. Hutton. 
My dear friend: — 

Your kind invitation to dine with you on Sunday 



109 

• 
last received. I was very sorry I was not home in time 
to accept. I would have called Sunday, but I thought 
you had company. You know, you said I would have 
to take my chances. You will, I hope, pardon me for 
not answering your kind letter of Monday, April 2d, 
sooner. I have been very busy. I have to attend to 
jury duty this week and that keeps me away from the 
store the best part of the day. 

Hoping this note will find you well and enjoying 
the best of health, I remain. 

Truly your friend, 

B. 



Chicago, 111. 
My dear Alice: — 

Yours from St. Louis was duly received and I 
was both glad and sorry, too, after reading it — glad be- 
cause the letter was from you, and sorry because you 
were unhappy even for one hour. 

I want to say right here that in my estimation it 
was exceedingly unkind in your friend E. to desert you 
so early in the day, after you had made the long trip 
especially for his benefit, and any man who permits a 
running match to interfere with a lady's arrangements 

under such circumstances should be well, he 

should be condemned to run for the balance of his 
earthly existence. 

I am convinced that your case of the "blues" was 
produced entirely by your loneliness during the day, 
and agreeable company would have dispersed them en- 
tirely; but I say, Alice, you must have had a terrible 
attack to have fallen into poetry, and such a poem, too. 

The metre was good, and the rhyme pretty, but 
pardon me for saying that the sentiment was abomin- 
able. You certainly wanted to convey to me the idea 
that you were very wicked, but I will have to know 
of your being guilty of more terrible crimes than I am 
aware of now before I will believe you to be even as 
much of a sinner as the average mortal, and I advise 



no 

you to put your best foot forward now and not let such 
precarious reflections interfere with the dehcate matter 
you have now in hand. I would certainly carry it far 
enough to see if there was going to be a grievous fight 
from the other side and if they do decide to contest, 
then it is time to talk of retreating. But remember 
what I told you — that in the event of your being 
obliged to drop it, you will be no worse off than before 
except for the fact that some of your friends are aware 
of the preparations that you have been making. This, 
you understand, is the way to brave the matter in 
case the legal affair is a failure, but I assure you that 
I sincerely hope to see you win, not that success means 
another alliance absolutely essential to your happiness, 
but because I think you deserve to be entirely free to 
do as you like with your own if you so desire. 

Now, my dear, I hope you will keep a stifif upper 
lip and carry out your plan of campaign to the end or 
until good policy dictates a retreat, and if you are 
threatened again with the blues, send out for a couple of 
dinner plates and try to spin them in the air like the 
juggler we saw at Hooly's. 

We miss you very much here, especially at the 
table, which seems to have lost its voice since you left. 

Hoping that you will soon be able to afford me the 
pleasure of grasping your hand and looking into your 
eyes again, I am, 

Yours faithfully, 

C. 



Chicago, 111. 
My dear friend Alice: — 

Your two letters from New York came duly to 
hand, and this morning I received your beautiful roses. 
,1 must acknowledge that you are very thoughtful, and 
the flowers were so unexpected that I was quite over- 
powered for the time being. I have some of them in a 
glass dish upon my desk and have received a good 
many compliments from callers on account of them. 



Ill 

From the programmes you have also sent I infer 
that you are doing the town, so far as amusements go, 
and you can beheve that nothing would please me 
more than to help you "do" it. Some philosopher (pos- 
sibly myself) has remarked that one half the world was 
created to contribute to the enjoyment of the other 
half, and I am sure that when association is possible 
you and myself can demonstrate the truth of the state- 
ment to an extent at least. 

I am very sorry to hear you are going to stay away 
from us so long, but also must congratulate you upon 
feeling sure that you won't have any trouble in your 
case. 

We have had the most abominable weather here 
for two weeks previous to last Sunday that I ever 
experienced. Two weeks steady rain every day, and 
although there were no river dams to break here- 
abouts, I have heard people a good many times say 
something that sounded much like dam when referring 
to the weather. I infer from what you said in your last 
letter that you do not think consistent my statement 
that I never kiss other men's waives, but in fact I am 
quite consistent. 

I w ish I was talking to you now and it would not 
take me long to illustrate what my idea is. 

There has been no particular change at the house. 
A — , D — , and myself still constitute the tenants at 
the table, and we all sincerely wish you w^ere here. 

I hope you will have occasion to come out before 
long. Well, keep me well posted on your movements 
and condition of mind, and I shall endeavor to do the 
same with you. 

We have got so much business on hand now that I 
sometimes think my mind is not as clear as it might be. 

Yours sincerely, 



112 

Chicago, 111. 
My dear friend Alice: — 

I am going to take the chances of arousing your 
husband's ire by addressing you as Alice, and if he 
objects to it I give you my word that it shall not hap- 
pen again. But when you tell him, as no doubt you 
will, what a very high regard I had for you and on the 
whole am a pretty good sort of a fellow and wish both 
of you all the happiness in the world, perhaps he may 
overlook the familiarity. 

I received your note written on the train, and also 
the one from New York informing me of the marriage 
and was glad to hear that there were no serious miscal- 
culations and everything went off pleasantly. I sup- 
pose that on such occasions the most trivial incidents 
of a disagreeable nature are exaggerated into the most 
ominous of omens by the interested parties, and con- 
sequently it is a matter for congratulation to all con- 
cerned that your wedding occurred without any un- 
pleasant incidents. 

You would have enjoyed a hearty laugh if you 
could have heard the boys at the house (*'boys" means 
the male boarders generally) telling me Sunday morn- 
ing about Mrs. Hutton's marriage in New York last 
week (this in the way of news, remember,) and, of 
course, when I feigned ignorance of it, they proceeded 
to tell me all about it and expressed great sympathy 
for me on account of your outrageously deceitful treat- 
ment. How they heard you were married on Wednes- 
day I do not know, but presume Mrs. W may have 

mentioned it. 

I shall await with impatience the picture you prom- 
ised. Expect to sit for mine to-morrow and hope you 
won't despair of getting one, because you will if it 
takes the last cow in the barn. 

Yours sincerely, 



113 

Brooklyn. 

Alice: — 

Yes. I received your picture, for which I sincerely 
thank you, and of which I am very proud. I thought 

of sending through Mrs.W my acceptance, but 

hesitated because I was not cjuite sure you would be 
pleased with my taking the liberty of using your friend. 
One, in circumstances like ours, is cjuite at a loss to 
know what to do and especially so when one has a 
disposition not to displease. However, believe me that 
your remembrance of me and elegant present gave the 
new year a kindly assurance which without it would 
have been quite to the contrary — blue, indeed. 

Manv thanks. E. 



Boston. 
Dear Alice: — 

I received your likenesses yesterday. They 
reached here Saturday. Thank you very much for re- 
membering me. You look well, not as good looking as 
you once did. If you have no objection I will have 
the one without the hat, crayoned life size. I always 
thought you were in a particular way very queer, the 
evidence that you are yet that way is apparent in your 
note. Why should T wish to return your likenesses? 
Why should I not be glad to keep them? 

Truly yours, 

F. 



Dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

Would you like to go to the Eden Musee this 
evening? If so, I will call for you at eight o'clock. 
Hoping you will accept my invitation, I remain. 
Yours sincerely, 

Edgar. 



Dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

I am quite surprised that after showing so 
much bravado you should now be afraid of me. 



114 

You spoke one time of me being afraid of you, saying 
you would not hurt me. You were not dangerous. Do 
you think I am now? Or am I altogether too for- 
ward? I hope you do not think so and that you wish 
I was a little more forward — than I am. Next time I see 
you (which I hope will be soon) I will tell you how 
your name happened to be mentioned to your friend. 
Let me know what evening you will be at home. 
I have engagements for Wednesday, Thursday and 
Saturday evenings of this week. Although I should 
like to spend one evening in your delightful company 
by the light of the grate fire with you. Write soon. 

Yours sincerely, 

Edgar. 



New York, January 13th. 
My dear Alice: — 

Excuse brevity. Will you be at home Saturday 
evening? If not, then Sunday. I want to win those 
stamps. I hope I will be fortunate enough to find you 
at home Saturday evening and without company. You 
%ee I am selfish and want you all to myself. 

Yours sincerely, 

Edgar. 



Tuesday, February ist. 
My dear Alice: — 

If you will be at home to-morrow evening, Wednes- 
day, I will call. I do not consider that I made a call 
Sunday. I hope you will look at it in the same light 
as I do. Had I called alone, then it might have been 
counted as such. I thought surely I would not find 
you alone, therefore I invited my cousin to call with 
me, which I was sorry for and deeply regretted after- 
wards. 

Please write and let me know about Wednesday. 

Yours, 

Edgar. 



115 

New York, February 4th. 
My dear Alice: — 

Yours received. You ask me if I would have 
called if you had let me know that you were home 
alone? You know well enough what my answer would 
be to that question. Send me word sometime when 
you are alone, and I will give you my answer. 

Hoping that I will see you Sunday evening, I 
remain, 

Yours sincerely, 

Edgar. 



New York, April 14th. 
My dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

I have just returned from the country after mak- 
ing a long stay and having a jolly good time. Many 
thanks for your pretty picture. You must have thought 
me very impolite not to have acknowledged your pretty 
gift, but I did not receive it until to-day. 

Hoping that you are well and that I may have the 
pleasure of seeing you soon, I remain, as ever. 
Your true friend, 

Edgar. 



New York, April i8th. 
My dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

I will call in to-morrow evening. Hope you will 
be at home. No, I am not married. We will talk 
about the chess game when I see you. 

Yours truly, 

Edgar. 



New York, Sept. 13th. 
My dear Alice: — 

I have been out of town for a few days, hence 
my delay in answering your last letter. The one, tel- 
ling me that you are leaving the mountains to-morrow, 
has just been received. You did not say where you 
were going from there, but I take it for granted that 



ii6 

you intend returning to your city house, and so I will 
address this letter there. Answer immediately and let 
me know where you are. 

I am yours ever, 

Edgar. 

^^ , New York, Sept. 25th. 

My dear Alice: — 

I shall use every endeavor to join you at tea to- 
morrow (Monday) evening, and as things look now I 
believe I shall be successful. I guess you can expect 
me at 6.30 o'clock, and I am sure we will have a very 
pleasant time. 

Believe me, as ever, yours, 

Edgar. 

r^ ,,. ■ New York, Oct. 25th. 

Dear Alice: — 

Yours received. Much better, thank you. Will 
call Sunday, if the weather is good. 

Edgar. 

T^ ... New York, Oct. 27th. 

Dear Alice: — 

Your kind invitation received. Will accept with 
thanks. I am still under the doctor's care. 

With love, 

Edgar. 

T^ , .,. New York, Nov. 4th. 

Dear, dear Alice:— 

Yours received. You know very well I do not tire 
reading your letters. I love to receive them, and the 
longer the better Did Doc say anything to vou about 
chess.'' 1 think he has about enough of it. 'My dear 
1 would much rather you would be as you are than like 
Lena Despard for she was altogether too familiar 
with Jack, don't vou know? 



it; 

Darling, will you be at home Sunday? I hope so, 
and alone. 

Your 

Erlgar. 



Sept. loth. 
My dear friend Alice: — 

Are you still in the mountains, and when are you 
going back to the city? I have been in Lexington since 
July 9th. We intend returning to the city this coming 
Monday, it being the i8th. I have spent a very pleasant 
summer and hope you have done the same. I want to 
see you looking as well this fall as you did last. We 
are going down by boat Monday. Hope to meet you 
on it if you intend going down about that time. I 
suppose you have had a jolly time. I know I have. 
It has been very lively here, but quite dull now, and 
the place looks forsaken. At the end of the month I 
may go down to W. P. for a week. Don't you want 
to go down? Write and let me know. Write so I will 
get it before Monday. 

Your 

Edgar. 



New York, Sept. 27th. 
Dear Alice: — 

Reached home safely. I am awfully sorry you are 
not going to spend your winter in the city. Why is it 
you have made up your mind to stay away? I should 
think you would miss going to the theatre and all that 
sort of thing. Do not be surprised if you see me pop 
in upon you some day. I suppose A. is with you. Yes, 
Alice, you must let me know when you are to be in 
the city. I have spent pleasant evenings in your com- 
pany and wish for more. 

Write and tell me all about yourself. 

Yours with love, 

Edgar. 



iiB 

New York, Oct. 15th. 
Dear Alice: — 

In your last letter you ask if the young lady that 
had my watch and ring was at Lexington last summer. 
No, she was not; and then again you ask: Is my sister 
to be married this fall? To this I will say no, but 
they hope to be some time. Have you finished build- 
ing? I suppose you have quite a place now, with your 
large open fireplace and all that. Dear Alice, you ask 
me who will take your place? What shall I say? I 
will try and live in the past and think of you. 

Well, do I remember the fireplace in New York. 
Can I ever forget it, and the sittmg room? Alice, do 
you think you will come to New York this winter? I 
iiope you will. You will let me know, won't you? 
Don't you miss the theatres? 

Trusting you will write soon again, I remain, 
Your true friend, 

Edgar. 



New York, Nov. 20th. 
Darling Alice: — 

I have not heard from you in a long, long time. 
I hope my last letter did not ofifend you in any way. 
If so I am very, very sorry for it and hope you will for- 
give me. Won't you, dear? Write and let me know. 
I hope you are well and enjoying good health. Are 
you coming to the city? 

Your 

Edgar. 



New York, Jan. 13th. 
Dear Alice: — 

Yours of the eleventh received with the enclosed 
proofs. Hope you accepted the one smiling. If so, 
you must give me one. I hope you are having a good 
time ; in fact, I know you will have as you will be away 



IIQ 

from me. I also hope you will not stay away long and 
will soon return. 

Write and let me know when you are to be at home, 
for I would like to show you how to play backgammon. 

Yours with love, 

Edgar. 



New York, Jan. 26th. 
My dear Alice: — 

Home again. Will call to-morrow% Friday. Hope 
you w^ill be at home, dear. Will give all the news when 
I see you. 

Yours with love, 

Edgar. 



New York, Feb. 5th. 
Dear Alice: — 

I hope you are quite well again. Let me know. 

Your 

Edgar. 



New York, Feb. loth. 
Dear Alice: — 

I w^ill not be able to see you in some little time on 
account of my little brother having scarlet fever. I can 
hear you say, '*I am so glad, for one reason: It will 
keep him away from me. Just wdiat I w^ant." 

I hope, dear, he will soon be over it, for his sake 
and for mine; for the sooner he recovers the earlier 
I will see you, dear. 

With love, 

Edgar. 



New^ York, Feb. 13th. 
Dear Alice: — 

Yours of the 12th received. There are three of 
our family who have not had scarlet fever. One of us 
is aw^ay from home. As for myself I am not much 



I20 



afraid, it being- chiefly a child's desease; but things will 
happen, we can't always sometimes tell. 

My brother is a little better to-day. I thank you, 
dear, for your good wishes. 

Darling, I should imagine from what you say about 

the proverb that you still would like to have me call. 

I am so glad. Tell me, dear, why do you tell me to keep 

. away and think otherwise? Tell me, you want to have 

me call and call soon. 

Yours with love, 

Edgar. 

New York, March 4th. 
My dear, dear Alice: — 

Been looking for a letter. Why don't you write ^ 
Hope you are coming to the city soon. I am delighted 
with that picture, dear, you sent me. I look at it about 
torty times a day and wish that you were near me, so 
that I might show you how much I love you. I 'am 
wedded to that picture— I will never part with it. 
Yours with love, 

Edgar. 

Dear Alice:- ^P"' ^'h- 

Why don't you write to me? Are you angry ^ Are 
you coming to the city this month? 

Your 

Edgar. 

T^ , ,. New York, April 2^d. 

Dear Alice: — *^ 

next v\ 
Yours. 



Are you to be in the city next week? If you are 
call and see me. ' ' 



Edgar. 



121 

July 5th. 
My dear Alice: — 

I am glad to hear from you. I wrote you several 
limes and wondered why you did not answer. Now 
I know. I am glad you have not forgotten me and think 
sometimes of me. You ask me if I am engaged, and if 
I think of you. How could I forget you, dear? I wish 
you were by my side asking those different questions. 
How much better it would be than a thousand miles 
away. My mother is quite ill, so ill in fact that we will 
not be able to leave the city on the loth of July, as 
we expected. We intend going again to Lexington. 

We are going to stop at the House. Of course, 

you know where it is, in the Catskills. I will try and 
get over to see you in your pretty home, dear. B. T. 
and I are going down on Long Island to-morrow 
afternoon. We may land in W. P., it depends. We 
are to remain away about one week. Old man Bonton, 
I understand, is very feeble; I don't think he will live 
much longer, poor old man! The photo you sent me 
I would not part with. I think a great deal of it, and 
look very often at it. How I wish I could see the 
original. Write to me, dear. Send your letters to the 
house and I will receive them. 

Yours with love, 

Edgar. 

New York, July 30th. 
Dear Alice: — 

I will be at Lexington on the eighth of August. 
Mother is better, and we will be able to leave the city on 
that date. Why did you not write again? You know 
I like to hear from you. Did you see the doctor while 
on your Western trip? Ted. H. is now at Lexington 
with his family. They do not intend to remain all sum- 
mer, probably a week or two k>nger. If all is well I 
will try and get over to see you. I can almost hear you 
say: *Tf you will be real good, you may come." You 
will proinise me a kiss and many of them, won't you. 



122 

dear? I wish you would come over my way during 
the summer. Is A. to be with you? I suppose he is 
quite a tennis player by this time. 

I told you I thought of going to Good Ground 
or W. Well, we went to W. and had a very good 
time. Old man Bonton is not expected to live. The 
cancer, which I suppose you know he has, is now eat- 
ing his face. It has reached the eye, of which he has 
lost the sight. Poor old fellow! he is very weak and 
his time is short. I called on the T's while at W. P. 
Played tennis about every afternoon with them; they 
have a beautiful place. Saw an old chum of yours. 
Write as soon as you receive this — you know I love to 
hear from you, dear. 

With much love, 

I am your 

Edgar. 

New York, October 6th. 
Dear Alice: — 

Received your announcement cards yesterday. 
Was greatly surprised. Could not believe my eyes, at 
first, until it gradually dawned upon me that you were 
married. I hope you will be happy. I congratulate 
him, as he has one that will make him so. 

I have been in the mountains since July 20th; 
returned yesterday. Hope to hear from you. 

Regards to Mr. Robinson, and see me when you 
are in the city and I will do likewise. 

Always your friend, 

Edgar. 

The mountains, 20th Dec. 
Dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

I saw our friend Sam Harris to-day, and he will 
deliver you one cord of twenty-six inch wood on Satur- 
day and two more cords next week. You ought to see 
our pie to-night — something grand, I assure you — 
and John is in good spirits, too, yet it seems lonesome 



123 

to me. It must be the coal stove has spoiled me. For, 
what else? We shall try our best to finish this survey 
by Xmas, then I can hang up my stocking in peace. 
I just received a card saying a box would leave New 
York on Friday for me. I wonder what can be in it. 
Something good, I trust, and hope it may be a "sur- 
prise." 

Did Smithy leave at five this morning? Fm sure 
I didn't, for when I reached "home" (pro tem.) I found 
Harrison warming the fire, and we had a friendly 
cigar till long after one, and you may be sure five came 
all too soon. To-night our friend is going to sleep in 
a hammock in the sitting-room. Alas! his room was 
cold and he had no dog. 

I wonder if you got your cutter? But enough of 
that wondering, for this was to have been a short 
strictly business note. So, pray, forgive my erring pen 
and believe me, 

Very sincerely, 

Winfred. 



The mountains, i8th Jan. 
Dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

I thank you very much for the trouble you have 
taken with my accident statement. Believe me, 

Sincerely, 

Winfred. 



The mountains, 25th Jan. 
Dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

I can't stand it any longer. Fm nearly sick. It 
grows more terrible every day. How could I have 
done such a thing! Oh, can you, won't you, forgive 
me? I can't, no, I cannot stand before you, but won't 
you send me one word? This silence is horrible. And 
Miss Smith — Oh, I am thoroughly disgraced. 

Winfred. 



124 

The mountains, 2Sth Feb. 
Dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

An hour since you spoke to me— the first time I 
have heard your voice in many days. But, perhaps, 
you'll think I should not write to you. Yet there is that 
within me that urges me to do it. Deeply do I regret 
my hasty actions of so many days ago. I did you great 
wrong and could not hope to offer an apology. 

I called on you to receive my dismissal, and had 
you scorned me it would have been my just deserts. 
But you were kind to me, yes, so kind that although 
It stung worse than rebuke, yet left me with some hope. 

Mrs. Hutton, I am sorry for acting as I did. Yes, 
from the bottom of my heart I am, and if it is possible 
to make any reparation, I beg you to tell me. 

Believe me. 

Very truly, 

Winfred. 

In the mountains, Dec. 22d. 
My dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

I regret very much my inability to dine with you 
on Xmas day. It was kind of you to ask me, and I 
know what pleasure I miss when I refuse such an in- 
vitation— but I go home to-morrow — trusting to hang 
my stocking on the family mantel. 

Remembering the pleasure of a former Xmas day 
and wishing you, indeed, all the happiness of this happy 
season, believe me, 

Very truly yours, 

Winfred. 

T^ , . , New York, April 2Sth, 

Dear friend:— 

Pardon me for this forwardness, but as I have 
heard from you through Mary I cannot help but write, 
if for nothing else but for the sake of "Auld Lang Syne." 

I have seen your picture, and I congratulate you 
on your preservation during the last ten years. 



125 

I was very glad to hear from you, and hope it may 
be my good fortune to some day meet you. 
Your old friend, 

Paul. 



New York, May 2d. 
Dear friend Alice: — 

Thanks. I will be pleased to go with you to- 
morrow night. You will have to excuse me, however, 
from tea this time. I would like to see you first. I 
will be at your house in time to take you. 

Your 

Paul. 



Dear Alice: — 

When I wrote you this afternoon my mind must 
have been wandering. I find at this time of year, when 
we are so very busy, it will be impossible for me to 
go home and get dinner and reach your house in time. 
So if you can wait until 6.30 before you dine I would 
be most happy to have the pleasure, etc. 

I just arrived this morning from New Rochelle, 
where I have been since Saturday. Found all the folks 
well. If you cannot wait until 6.30, please telegraph 
me. I brought up some dogs with me this morning 
for the show at Madison Garden. 

Your friend, 

Paul. 



Friend Alice: — 

I hope this will find you getting along all right. 
Now, don't be surprised. I know all about it, and as 
I felt sorry for sister so do I for you. Such things, 
unfortunately, have to be done for those most inter- 
ested, but it must be, as it ought to be, a consolation 
for you to know that those butchers (the doctors) are 
doing something to some fellow every day. What do 
they care, as long as they fill their cofifers (I mean 
pockets)? As there is always a bright side to every- 



126 

tiling, I hope you will see some of it after your re- 
covery. 

When you are able to talk and laugh I will come 
up and see you. Until then adieu. I don't expect you 
to write me — no — no. 

Again hoping you are all right and that your re- 
covery and rising will soon come to pass without the aid 
of Gabriel's horn. 

Paul. 



Friend Alice (in bed): — 

I have just received your telegram. I am very 
glad to hear you are getting along so well. With your 
constitution and jolly disposition all the doctors in 
New York can not keep you quiet. Brace up and have 
some style about you. What will you do with the 
bonnet and gloves now? 

I will come over Sunday evening after tea. If 
you are not well enough, don't see me. 

Paul. 



New York, Jan. 14th. 
My dear Alice: — 

While visiting some friends at Morristown, N. J., 
last summer I went with them to call on their nearest 
neighbor. While there I picked up an album, and in 
it came across your picture. I was surprised. I was 
more surprised when they told me they knew me well — 
at least knew of me well. T have seen them many 
times since and, of course, heard of your marriage 
from them. 

Your card received this morning, therefore, no 
surprise to me. Now that you have gone and done it, 
and belong to a very lucky man, it is not fitting that 
I should say more than to congratulate you and to 
wish you and yours a bright and happy future, 



127 

Let memory sometimes bear you back 

To pleasant scenes almost forgot. 
And when you think of other friends, 

Who loved you well, forget me not. 

Good bye, 

Paul. 

Feb. 25th. 
My darling Alice: — 

Thank you cordially. Accept my inmost feelings 
unexpressed. You know my desires, my thoughts; at 
the same time you must remember my regard and 
respect for your position. Trust me, I entreat you. I 
shall and must be careful. In this you will have faith 
in me. I wish I knew you were alone! Yes, I was just 
where you supposed when you wrote to me. I spoke of 
you, and others spoke of you also. My heart would 
fairly jump at any mention of you. So much love is 
there in my heart for you. They told me you had been 
at the Academy, and I was grieved to think that I was 
absent. But remember what I think and wish for you. 
I shall always do as you bid. Write when you can 
and as often as you can. I am dying to see you. Do 
not forget to advise me if you will see me. I hardly 
know how to write and what to write. But my love is 
for you, and vou know it well. 

Seth. 



New York, August i8th. 
Dear Mrs. Hutton: — 

I know you will be delighted in glancing over the 
inanimate lines of my chirography. 

I arrived in New York tired and thirsty, but as 
soon as I could get into my uniform I proceeded to 
quench the thirst as speedily as possible. I am quite 
good looking under any circumstances, but words can- 
not describe the glory and splendor of my appearance 
in full dress uniform. 



128 

In fact, I was in great danger of being stolen by 
some of the young girls, scores of whom followed me 
for squares. 

I found upon my arrival in Baltimore that the 
cause of my summons was the extreme illness of the 
captain, and so I was ordered to take command until 
his recovery, which is indefinite. His sickness will 
prevent our sailing until spring. I wish you were here 
to enjoy the sailing and driving. I have a crack horse 
and a sloop that has never been beaten, so I could make 
it quite pleasant for you. Alice, I will be able, in all 
probability, to make short trips to New York. I 
should be delighted to call if you will kindly grant per- 
mission. Please, give my regards to Miss Brown and 
keep twelve-tenths for yourself. Write as soon as pos- 
sible. 

Believe me ever your friend, 

Neville. 



28th Feb. 
Dear Alice: — 

Oh, do you remember, sweet Alice, Ben Bolt? 
Yes; if Ben doesn't I do, and pleasant are those re- 
membrances. I send a Decanter replenisher, gentle 
lady, and on Monday I will fill it for you, i. e., if your 
thirst or another's — perish the thought — has not done 
the act ere I am with you again. 

Remember your oyster supper, Monday, and until 
then, believe me, your indicative mood and present 
tense. 

George. 

Monday evening. 
Sweet friend Alice: — 

And how are you this evening? I hope quite well. 
I expect to go ofif on a long tramp to-morrow, Tues- 
day, and will not (possibly) be back until late; so, as 
you first suggested, will say Friday, and then I shall 
meet you at the house at, say, six. Purcell's, did you 



129 

say? \"ery well, nia cherc; yoii can reckon with your 
host this time. 

Yours, 

George. 

April loth. 
My dear friend: — 

What a mockery! You seem to have enough of 
the milk of human kindness, and, with an alloy of 
aflfection, address me as above. I shall do no less. 

So I am a nameless, homeless nonentity — a myth. 
That being the case I shall not be obliged to contribute 
to charity or serve on jury duty — blissful! Wrapt in 
the solitude of my own consciousness I can draw the 
drapery of my couch around me and lie dow^n to sweet 
dreams. 

What an exalted opinion you will have of your 
own ability to measure humanity when you know more 
than you do. I shall not deny or affirm anything until 
I see you face to face. 

I will call Wednesday evening, and if you are the 
noble woman I took you to be, you will welcome 

G , and as I shall make you judge and I am major 

domo of our social affairs, I shall expect justice from 
one so fair. 

Do not fail me (if directories do), and believe me 
your admiring friend 

George. 

P.S. — W^ednesday evening, 6 P.M., we will dine 
together. 



September 26th. 
Mrs. Hutton:— 

My dearest friend on earth! I cannot help 
writing you at this time. As I crossed the lonely 
bridge at twelve o'clock last night I felt like throw- 
ing myself over to end my misery — and what shall 
I do?' Shall I write these words to you? I must 
come to the point, for I am heavy at heart, I always 



I30 

Ihong-ht of the difference in our circumstances, so I 
never dared ask you to be mine. I never was really 
in love but once, and that is with you, as I told you 
yesterday. Could I but fly to you now I would love 
and cherish you all my days and would fly to the end 
of the earth with you. After I am married it will be 
too late. Will you answer this note? I pray God I 
am doing no harm — I shall never forget you — I love 
you and cannot forget. Your charming face I long to 
see. I can claim you as a friend if you will not marry 
me. I will try and do what is right if you answer me 
"No." I pray you answer this at once, for every 
moment counts to me. I will await an answer, dearest. 
Write, if only once, will you, my dear friend? All is 
true, I told you, after knowing all. If you will have 
no mercy on me I hope in after years you will have 
one kind thought for him who loves you well. 

Sincerely, 

Jack. 



June 29th. 
My dear Alice : — 

Your kind letter was duly received by me and has 
been read and re-read several times. It was nice of you 
to answer so promptly and to allow me the privilege 
of corresponding with you. It is now the only con- 
solation remaining to me until I shall again see you 
face to face — for that time I long. 

I have not as yet received that photo. I want you 
to send me a photograph of yourself — I want a photo- 
graph, especially of your face, — that is to me of great 
interest. I want something in the absence of the 
original that I can look at and fancy that it looks at 
me in return, not to remind me of you, for that is un- 
necessary, for I shall never forget you. I wish that it was 
in my power to impress into you something of the 
spirit of my feelings towards you. It is infinitely 
charming to read in your note to me that you miss me, 
and as we do not miss those we do not like the natural 



131 

inference is very patent. My darling, the last Sunday 
that I enjoyed your companionship opened up to me 
a really new experience. I thought I was familiar with 
ladies, and, in fact, I have passed quite a little of my 
time in their society, but you are to me a revelation. Ah! 
I can close my eyes now and almost fancy myself by your 
side again ; but I open my eyes and it is all a fancy. Let 
me relate to you a little incident that befell me last even- 
ing. I had an engagement to spend the evening with 
some lady friends, two graduates of the seminary at 
Rye, N. Y. They came on to attend the commence- 
ment exercises and are now making a short visit at the 
house of a lady friend here in town. I went up to my 
room to dress, and as I was early, I lay down on the 
lounge with the newspaper and a cigar, but the first 
thing I knew I didn't know anything, as I was asleep. 
What brought you to my mind I do not know, but I 
dreamed I was again with you somewhere, I cannot now 
recognize the surroundings, although I think it must 
have been at your house in New York. We were in 
evening dress, and had just returned from some enter- 
tainment. It was nearly 9 o'clock when I awoke. I 
rushed through my toilet and reached the house 
where my friends were, in a scarcely awakened 
condition, and it was really late in the evening 
before I fully recovered my mental equilibrium. 
To-morrow night, two weeks from the time I was 
at your house in New York ( I date almost every- 
thing from then), I am going to Boston to spend Sun- 
day. I expect to take one of the young ladies referred 
to with me as far as Hartford. She is a very nice girl ; 
she spent quite a while abroad, and I judge papa is 
in somewhat comfortable circumstances; they reside in 
New York. Now, I am going to propose to you (not 
marriage) that I come up to the mountains to see you 
some Saturday, and remain over Sunday at a hotel, 
not at your house; what say you? I leave it to your 
judgment and discretion, and should you decide favor- 
ably, you shall name the date. Alice, make it when you 



132 

have not got a house full of guests and admirers imme- 
diately at hand, and perhaps it would be best when 
Miss Thompson is with you. 

Now, don't say "come" if you do not mean it, or 
if you think it not best and do not feel that you must 
have me for a guest, because I shall stop at a hotel, 
provided I go at all. 

But do not, for heaven's sake, lose sight of the en- 
gagement you have to visit Boston next winter, and 
mind, your visit is to be a week anyway. 

Since fate has been unkind in not permitting me to 
meet you before, and to see as much of you as I should 
have done had I known you years ago, I live in the 
hope that the future will redeem the past. 

Now, do not let me wait too long for an answer, 
and should you think me verging too strongly on the 
sentimental, I will try and suppress it from my letters — 
although my feelings will remain the same. I think I 
could go on writing you for some time yet, but there 
is, unfortunately, an end to almost everything, and lest 
you should be wearied I will cease. You ask if we shall 
ever meet again and express the hope that we may — I 
assure you if it rests with me we shall. 

To think that I should never meet you face to face 
again would be for me a deprivation unbearable. 
Heaven grant that you may have something of the same 
feeling for me, even in a lesser degree. Of myself, I 
am sure; of you, not so sure. I cannot kiss you good- 
bye on paper, nor can I fold you in my arms to take one 
long, lingering look into your eyes, but my desire to do 
so is just as strong as though it were possible. 

Believe me to be to you an affectionate and lasting 
friend. Yours, 

Lemont. 



July i8. 
My Dear Alice: — 

Your photo received. It is splendid, and no mis- 
take, and my sentiments cannot justly be committed to 



i33 

paper, but must be wliispered into your ear with no one 
but your own sweet self for an audience. Yoii shall have 
a photo of myself, but it cannot ])ossess the charms 
that yours docs, because the subject is lacking and the 
photographic art cannot supply the want. I have not 
got your last letter with me, but will try and answer 
it from memory. I shall take you to task for miscon- 
struing my last letter to you. Whether intentionally or 
not I do not know, but I did not request you for an in- 
vitation to the mountains this summer, but simply asked 
if I should come: if it would be agreeable for you to see 
me as an occasional caller at your house. 

I submit to your decision, however, and shall pa- 
tiently await any opportunity for seeing you at any time 
you may see fit. 

God knows it is hard lines to wait until next winter 
before seeing you again. Again I assure you I am not 
at all desirous of working Miss Thompson into any 
scheme, nor have I any scheme in view with which she 
is connected. 

As far as my being in love with Bella is concerned, 
I answer you no — and even were such the case I should 
not be desirous of seeing you two together, as it would 
be altogether an aiifair between you and me, as far 
as I should be allowed to make it, which would make 
it unpleasant for the third party. 

Presume the story of my calling upon her three 
times a week emanated from the young brother, whom 
I have since heard is with you. I have seen her twice 
since we were so charmingly entertained by you at your 
New^ York house. 

No, my dear, you are wrong in your suppositions. 
I am in love with a half dozen or so young ladies to a 
greater or less degree, but that does not count, as that 
is with me perfectly natural. 

I should feel lonesome if it were not possible for 
me to seek consolation of some one while you are so far 
away — How's that? Rather unkind of you to repeat 
and hold up for his amusement the effusions of a young 



134 

man when writing to an object of adoration. But if 
you enjoy it, all right. Proceed, I am satisfied. What 
I refer to is the copying of several passages of my letter 
to you, but I am glad you agree with me, and it is good 
of you to say so. 

I am always asking favors of my friends, and I shall 
of you. Here is one: Please explain to me in your next 
letter (which I hope may soon be forthcoming) the 
meaning of your saying — You are a strange fellow. 

I am interested, you see. You speak of seeing me 
once more, and "hope we vshall meet again, if only for 
once," etc., etc. Why not for more than once? Should 
Providence be generous to me I hope to live a year or 
two more anyway, perhaps longer. I certainly am not 
intending marriage, and unless you are the doubtful 
one, why not, I say, for more than once? When I do 
see you again it will not be for the only time, if I am 

allowed a word with regard to it. D me if I don't 

think you must have something in the wind yourself — 
going abroad, going to marry the doctor, social suicide, 
or some other God forsaken object. — Give it up; it's a 
bad plan. 

I am an excellent person to giVe advice, and my 
advice is always good. I do not mean, of course, to ad- 
vise you in matters with regard to which you are the 
best judge, as your own judgment is better than mine. 
You comprehend. Now, while you two girls are there 
together, please for my sake do not exchange letters 
from me. It would be unpleasant for me should I dis- 
cover it, and I might. 

Dame Rumor always gets in her little work where 
the opportunity presents itself, and I have recently been 
her victim. Nothing alarming, only amusing — as fol- 
lows: There is at a cottage in Newton a young lady 
whom I once met here in town about two years ago, 
and have not seen since. 

At a hop the other evening I was again introduced 
to her, and danced several times with her, accompanying 
her home when the affair was over. 



135 

The next day a i^eiitleman friend informed me that 
it was eurrent talk amoni;- half a dozen or so youn^ peo- 
ple that the above mentioned youn^^ lady had once been 
to me the object of my profound admiration; so much 
so that I assiduously courted her family, proposed, and 
then, think of it! was rejected. 

I have not had anythinii^ amuse me quite as much 
in some time, considering that 1 had seen her but once 
previously. 

Have not seen her since; when I do, am going to 
spring it on her and see what she will have to say 
regarding it. 

Now, my dear, I must shut of¥ before it runs any 
more, as I have to go and spend the evening with one 
of the "half dozen" who leave next week for Martha's 
Vineyard. 

The separation will be unbearable almost, but we 
shall have to submit. 

Oh, let me, etc., that is for you. 

Now, with all the kisses that I would bestow upon 
you in person, I leave you to imagine them as enclosed 
between these sheets, and with nothing but my pleas- 
ant thoughts of you for company, I say good-bye until 

Your admiring 

Lemont. 



July 31. 
My Own Dear Alice: — 

Yes — you are my own, at least in my estimation; 
some one may have a prior claim, but that shall not pre- 
clude me. 

I am glad you should take the trouble to explain 
your reasons for your apparent veto of my intended 
visit. You see, my dear, I am such a prosaic individual 
that I always (or almost always) take everything in a 
serious light — sometimes more seriously than is in- 
tended. 

What do you suppose it would matter to me If 
your house were not in order, or if there were no sitting- 



136 

room to occupy. As long as I should have you the whole 
face of nature would be brightened and changed and 
any thing or place enlivened by your presence would 
be to me as the Palace of Aladdin. 

Enough. 

I did not mean to hurt Belle's sensibilities in any 
A^ay, shape or manner. I am as well aware of the fact 
of her having a lingering feeling of regard for me as are 
you. But she is young and will outgrow it. I simply 
told you the truth, viz., that she and I are the best of 
good friends; further than that it is unnecessary for 
either of us to go. 

You have, I think, gotten the story of myself and 
a young lady, told you by Harriet, somewhat mixed. 

The only episode of the kind that I think of to 
which Harriet could refer (do not imagine their name is 
legion) is one of a young lady from New York who 
visited Boston about two years ago, and with whom I 
became very well acquainted. I may have done her an 
injustice, but at the time I was quite positive it was an 
even thing on both sides. 

She was not a friend of Harriet's; quite the con- 
trary: indeed, I think Miss I. was quite pleased when 
she returned to the metropolis. 

I had an engagement with them both one evening, 
and as Boston was the nearest of the two, I went there 
first, and then took her with me to call upon Miss T. — 
a thing, of course, which I ought not to have done. That 
was the only time they ever met, and what Belle knows 
about our friendship I told her. 

The New Yorker wanted a husband, and I did not 
want a wife, and each of us tried to see which would 
come out ahead. Pardon my conceit if I think I did. 

We corresponded for a while, and she came to Bos- 
ton again, and I called on her, but the afifair then 
dropped. 

No, Alice, on my honor as a gentleman, I have not 
as yet overcome any lady's good resolutions. Hav- 
ing tired of her, I guietly laid her on the shelf and 



137 

sought fresh fields among pastures new — I told you so 
w lien at your house in New York. 

And I think if you try you will recollect my views 
on the subject. 

Yes, my dear, I will meet you in New York, not 
only once, but as many times as you will vouchsafe, 
and consider myself as one of the most fortunate of mor- 
tals to have the opportunity. 

I am, as you probably know, twice down to busi- 
ness, and should I come to the mountains this sum- 
mer, it will have to be at some time during the week 
in August, from the i8th to the 25th. If that will 
not do, I am fearful that I shall have to pass it for the 
present. 

When I see you I w'ill tell you the whole story of 
myself and the young lady whose case you mentioned as 
2. reason for you being on your guard as far as I am con- 
cerned. 

The absurdity of that amuses me. Why, I would 
not harm a hair of your head, and you know it. Talk 
about your wishing for me during the lovely moonlight 
evenings we have been having recently! Those are ex- 
actly my feelings w^ith regard to yourself. Some of the 
evenings at the shore have been perfect. There are a 
number of girls who are quite bright and agreeable ; one 
especially with whom I have put in considerable time. 

But there has not been an evening when she has 
been with me when I have not longed that she might 
fade into nothingness, if she only might be replaced by 
your own sweet self. 

Did you ever read any of the books, the titles of 
which I wrote down for you? and if so, how did you like 
them? I have a novel at my room that I read on my way 
to Brant Rock, Saturday, by Phillips, author of "As in a 
Looking Glass," etc. 

It is rather interesting, and I will mail it to you as 
soon as I get time to go up and get it. If you have read 
it, throw it away. 

It is strange that you should have passed the greater 



1.38 

part of your life with gentlemen, and consider them su- 
perior to women, and that I should be able to say the 
same (as regards the la.st few years of my own life) with 
regard to ladies. 

You are fond of gentlemen — I of ladies. I think it 
is therefore all right, and the human race at large will 
thus be well taken care of between us both. How for- 
tunate for the poor things ! 

By the way, Alice, if you have trouble in reading 
my letters, let me know and I will take more pains with 
them; when I write and think at the same time the 
writing is necessarily slurred, as the thinking occu- 
pies my entire faculties. Good-bye until we meet again. 
Do not forget Boston next winter. 

Lemont. 



Boston, Sept. 26. 
My dear Alice: — 

Really, a letter from you seems like a voice from the 
departed — from the happy past to which I had almost 
said good-bye. It seemed so long since I had heard 
from you that I concluded it was my ill fortune to have 
been gently placed on the shelf along with the many ad- 
mirers of yourself who had had their little day and then 
been moved to one side to make way for the new comer. 
At the end of your letter you say, "I will answer it if 
you wtsh." Alice, now, please explain. Do you mean 
you will answer a letter from me if I wish? If that is it, 
consider by all means that I wish. I presume you have 
been occupied and too busy to attend to unnecessary 
correspondence. You are, I think, described in a book 
I read recently, which spoke of a most charming creat- 
ure over whom the men raved, but she, with all her 
many graces, seemed not to comprehend the depth of 
the affection lavished upon her, and treated her many 
"ravers" with about as much consideration as would 
have been their due had they been in reality raving. 

Such women are frequently worshiped by m>en; in 
fact, by all men with whom they come in contact, but 



139 

ili(\v arc apparently incapable of understanding the 
wealth of such regard. 

So you want me to come up and cheer you up a 
trifle during the bleak November days. Such a prospect 
is to me delightful in the extreme, the only objection 
being the distance. 

You remember (or have you forgotten ?) we agreed 
to meet in New York for the theatre this winter. Per- 
haps you are merely intending this as an additional 
treat for me; anyway, I accept so far as I can now tell. 
I may have to take a trip out to Western New York 
about Thanksgiving time; if I do, I will see you either 
on my way out or coming back. And should I not go 
then, I do not see but that I can go to the mountains for 
over Sunday. We will hold the matter open, and I think 
you will see me then — as to time, can be arranged later. 

Let me see — you favored me with a one-sheet let- 
ter, but one sheet will not hold all I have to say, so I will 
go on. 

I have seen Belle twice, I think, since her return 
from your house. She reported a most enjoyable time 
and numerous conquests. No summer would be com- 
plete for a young lady without the self-satisfaction ob- 
tainable from having a few young men at her feet — 
metaphorically speaking. For my own part, it has been 
my good fortune to be at places where the gentlemen 
have been (except on special occasions) in the minority, 
and as a consequence — the world has been mine. I went 
ofif on a yachting trip for a week as far as New London 
with a couple of other fellows, and we had fun, and lots 
of it. 

For mental and physical relaxation give me a good 
yacht, a jolly crowd and decent weather, and I will 
agree to enjoy myself, of course the accessories of good 
"grub" (a nautical term) and plenty to drink are ex- 
pected to accompany the necessaries. We had them all. 

If you do go to New York this winter, let me know^ 
by all means; we can take in the theatre, and I can bask 
for a while in the sunshine of vour smiles. But the 



140 

more I think of it I am sure it would be delightful to be 
with you in your mountain home, away from the out- 
side world, with a person, for whose society, a man 
once knowing- her, will always crave. 

Thus it is with me. I have really seen so little of 
you for so long; it has all been appointments, and they 
have been made and broken— all have fallen through. 
I want one appointment made that will not fall through. 
If you want any reading matter, let me know and I wili 
send you a few novels to while away the time. 

Now, don't keep me in suspense too long this time 
before you send me an answer. The only way I have 
recently been able to get news of you has been through 
Belle. That, you know, is second hand, and such things 
are always pleasanter direct. She mentioned several 
gentlemen apparently complimentary for the honor of 
doing you homage. 

Now, be careful, my dear; don't be frivolous. Girls 
ought, you know, to be careful in choosing their male 
admirers. I really might be jealous. I think the above 
sage piece of advice will warrant my closing and again 
reassuring my state of expectancy until another letter 
arrives. 

I am now and always 

Your loving friend, 

Lemont. 

_^ , Boston, Oct. 7th. 

My dear Alice (accent on the dear) :— 

Someone has said, in order to be a successful letter 
writer it is necessary to answer letters received as well 
as to write simply upon matters of interest to both 
correspondents. 

I can easily believe from the tone of your letter to 
me that you were fully as ''blue" as you say. I sincerely 
hope, by this time, that the least remnants of any such 
feelings have gone away to stay. 

I have always declared, when asked concerning it, 
that I never have the blues and do not really think I do. 



141 

The reason being because my thoughts are occupied 
most of the time and I do not have the time to in- 
dulge (?) in any such unpleasant pastime. I can easily be- 
lieve that if time hangs at all heavily on your hands the 
receipt of letters, such as you describe, must sometimes 
incline you to wish yourself again in New York where 
there is so much with which to divert oneself. But if 
you are dissatisfied with your present arrangements, 
as you have no one but yourself to consult, why not 
return to the city again? 

Pardon me if I seem to take the liberty of advising 
you without an invitation so to do. I have read "As in a 
Looking Glass!" but not the other work you mention; 
will get it and read it. 

Do I think they are happy? Give it up, my dear. 
Is any one happy? What is happiness? We, most of 
us, enjoy for greater or lesser periods in our lives what 
we call happiness. I think almost every one is occasion- 
ally happy. If it were not so, if there were no sunny 
days and life consisted entirely of rainy and cloudy 
days, it would be unbearable. I take it you do not have 
enough to occupy your mind. The reaction from city 
life to a retired country life is something to which you 
are unaccustomed, and mayhap, when the newness 
wears off, you will like it fully as well as the other. 

In my own case I am of so nervous a disposition 
that I like to have something on foot continually; if 
not. then I do something myself, which resource is 
open to most of us — more, perhaps, to men than 
to women. 

As I remember my visits to your house I do not 
think you had any occasion for jealousy. My thoughts 
were so much occupied with you and by you that 
T remember having said hardly a "yes" or "no" to 
Belle while there, excepting perhaps at the table. 
At any rate she declared, after her return to Boston 
when I called on her, that she had never been 
so snubbed in her life, and when I went anywhere again 
where she was I would be very apt to know it. 



142 

Well, all right ; not my fault, all yours. You should 
not be so attractive. As you say, next time we will be 
alone. That meeting will, I hope, constitute one of the 
happy days which are referred to earlier in this letter. 
Have you read "Eden," by Edgar Saltus, or 'The 
Truth about Tristem Varick," by the same author — 
new publications, the scenes of which are laid in New 
York? If not, let me send them. They are, either of 
them, interesting enough to make one finish them 
after once beginning. 

To-morrow night I have to act as usher at the wed- 
ding of a friend of mine. He evidently sides with the 
affirmative side of the question as to whether the mar- 
riage contract is a failure or no. 

I wish him joy, but am in no great haste to imitate 
his example. He is somewhat older than I. Perhaps 
when I arrive at that age I may think as he does. Till 
then it will be enough blessedness for me, and when I 
do pick her out (can I say among the many?) I'll ask 
your advice on the subject. That is fair; isn't it? 

I quote from your letter: "Well, now I must close 
this letter and go to bed — I am all alone this evening 
up here so far away." I'm sorry, but can't help it, my 
love. I am hundreds of miles away at present, but if 
fortune smiles in November I hope to be by your side — 
and then — ah, me! Yes, I can read your letters with- 
out difficulty. If I can read my own, I am sure I can 
anybody else's. 

I have not seen Belle for quite a little time, not 
since her new mother came to live with her. I have 
been intending to call there for quite a while back, but 
have not quite reached it. Shall do so this week. I 
wonder how she and Hudson are progressing. You 
have doubtless heard her speak of him. I gathered 
from what she confided to me on my last visit that he 
was becoming very attentive. It would be curious if 
they should finally make a match of it. 

I have known of him for years, although not ac- 
quainted .with him, and should judge he is quite a nice 



M3 

fellow and would make her a good husband. But 
either she would have to tone down somewhat or he 
would have to liven up, for he is a very quiet and re- 
served fellow. 

Let me know the route you take from New York, 
and T will write to New York for a time table. 

If time really does hang heavily on your hands 
you ought to be able to write a large number of letters 
and I shall hope for a speedy answer. 

My photo will be forthcoming. How about yours 
for me? 

Yours as always, 

Lemont. 



LETTERS OF MY SECOND 
WIDOW-HOOD. 



145 



LETTERS OF MY SECOND WIDOW- 
HOOD. 



LAST NIGHT. 

Last night the nightingale woke me. 

Last night, when all was still. 
It sang in the golden moon-light, 

From out the woodland hill, 
I open'd my window so gentle, 

I look'd on the dreaming dew, 
And oh! the bird, my darling, 

Was singing, was singing of you. 

I think of you in the day-time, 

I dream of you by night; 
I wake and would you were here, love, 

And tears are blinding my sight, 
I hear a low breath in the lime-tree, 

The wind is floating thro'. 
And oh! the night, my darling, 

Is sighing, is sighing for you. 

Oh! think not I can forget you, 

I could not, tho' I would. 
I see you in all around me — 

The stream, the night, the wood. 
The flowers that slumber so gently. 

The stars above the blue. 
Oh! heaven, itself, my darling. 

Is praying, is praying for you. 



W 



148 

New York, Dec. 28th. 
Dear Alice: — 

Last night, just about dark and just about the time 
of day, I was ushered into this vale of tears and woe. 
So many, many years ago ! The mountain box arrived 
at my house containing the beautiful Afghan and the 
pleasant little note from you accompanying it. You 
may rest assured that I shall throw the Afghan over 
me when those afternoon naps are taken, and some- 
times in the evening, and that I shall not be likely to 
forget the giver. 

There's a lot of work in this gift and of your own 
hands, and this gives a special value to it to me. 
I thank you for it and for your good wishes. 

Your friend, 

Robert. 



7/18. 
Mrs. Robinson. 
Dear Alice: — 

Although in a very great hurry I can not leave this 
good old city without dropping a line to a dear friend. 
I arrived here this 9 A.M., and shall leave on the 
"Werra" for Germany to-morrow, Saturday, at 8 A.M., 
to be gone about five weeks. Expect to return on the 
"Ems" and arrive here about August i8th. I feel so 
natural in this city that I hate to leave the good old 
place. 

With kindest regards, I remain, 

Sincerely, 

Leon. 



149 

California, June 22d. 

Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I wish to tliank you for the beautiful flowers you 
sent me, considering they were in a lovely state of 
preservation. To me they were very much. I some- 
times wish you had not sent them at all. I suffered 
with the thoughts they awakened, and in my present 
existence I am hardly in a condition to allow such 
thoughts to enter my mind. I wish that providential 
angel of mine could very suddenly drop me in front 
of you. I have so much to tell you and wish to look 
upon your kind face again. Ever since I left New York 
my life has been to me a disappointment. I came very 
near being numbered amongst the dead. Appendicitis 
was the cause of it all. Subjecting myself to an opera- 
tion, which w^as to me a joy at the time, an opera- 
tion that in itself may cause death at any time, I was one 
of the fortunates that passed by it. ^iy illness caused 
a rapid falling in the health of my good mother, who 
died soon after I returned from California whence I had 
gone in search of health. Good woman! She died too 
soon. But "her boy" feels as though he w^as the cause 
of a great deal. A month before I was stricken down 
with this dreadful disease I became engaged, at least 
I thought so; but when the young lady convinced her- 
self that there was no hope for my recovery, after several 
weeks of despondency, cheered up and married the 
other fellow. I fear I have grown somewhat indifferent 
in my profession, although I considered several offers 
to go before the footlights. With all this I have not 
lost any of my hopes of soon entering into private prac- 
tice. I am still in the C. B. service, and am very well 



ISO 

pleased. My only drawbacks are my heavy social ex- 
penses, and they must be cut down. How are you any- 
way, my dear friend? Have you a family? It has been 
very hot to-day. If it keeps on I shall arrange for my 
vacation — probably at the sea shore — and I shall think 
of you. 

My kindest regards to you, 

Very sincerely, 

Leon. 



March 20th. 
My dear Alice: — 

How much I longed to be at your side those last 
few days, my dear. Those are sad hours, unpleasant 
reminders; still we must bear them. Time, the great 
and only wound healer, must come to our rescue. Oh, 
I wish I could have been with you to console, comfort 
and cheer you up. Poor, dear Alice! I trust you are 
well. Please address me when you feel well enough. 
Love and kiss from 

Your afifectionate 

Theodore. 



Southern Hotel, June ist. 
My dear Alice: — 

Much rather I should like to speak to you to-night, 
but here I must sit down to a table and pen these lines 
to you. Don't the stationery seem familiar? Please, 
glance at the heading, and place your fair hand near 
my heart. It's some days since I received your letter, 
and, I assure you, my joys were unbounded, for it was 
one of those I used to, "used to," get from you in days 



gone by, Alice. Dear Alice, I am so glad you are in 
such good health. That is one consolation. Isn't it? 
And a great one. I believe T could write seventy-five 
of these sheets to you, but I must not. How long since 
I have written to you! Oh, my! By the way, you 
have asked me how the doctor was? Something has 
told you. The poor ])oy has been stricken with a ter- 
rible affliction and has been hovering between life and 
death since March. In the prime of life, the picture of 
health, spirits and joy six weeks ago — to-day helpless 
and almost reduced to a skeleton. Alice, please, never 
complain when you enjoy good health. 

Aly most unfortunate brother's illness was of such 
a serious nature that it necessitated the opening of the 
abdominal cavity, which occurred at the hospital in this 
city, and he has been so low since that his death was 
expected hourly. I am happy to say he has since im- 
proved slightly and his recovery is now more hopeful. 
Oh, Alice! I tell you this is a sad blow, and I hope you 
sympathize with me. 

Pray that he may again enjoy good health. A 
queer circumstance is that brother wrote a book on ab- 
dominal treatments, intestines, etc, and he becomes 
afflicted with it and almost dies. 

Brother was still associated with the C. B., and was 
working on medical briefs, etc., to be presented at the 
next international meeting of doctors at Rome next 
September, where he expected to be present. 

Alice, I fear I am tiring you; so, to something 
else. You said you spent the winter alone. Why did 
you do it? Here nearly everything is as of yore. I 
have not changed any, only I am not as big a goose 



152 

as I was (confound it). I never permit my thoughts to 
run in that direction, for it would surely drive me crazy. 
You are such a good, kind woman, Alice — and I shall 
love you eternally for that. 

When are you going to the World's Fair, dear? 
Do you not soon anticipate a trip West? You remem- 
ber, I tried to see you East — do you remember? Re- 
fresh your memory, Alice! But you cut me, oh, a cut 
that reached my heart to the very bottom. It surely 
must have reached the bottom, for it aches still oc- 
casionally. Adding to that, two weeks before I intended 
starting East I was laid up with typhoid fever for three 
months. I do not think I ever told you. Alice, I 
hope this letter will find you in a more contented 
frame of mind and happy and in good health and spirits, 
for that is the wish of your love in the West. 

Write me soon and, please, send me one of your 
latest photographs. I'll return the favor. 
Good night, 

Theodore, 



June loth. 
Alice, my dear: — 

I received your esteemed note some days ago. It 
made me feel sad, happy and God knows how, Alice. 
Brother is getting along very nicely now, and I am so 
glad. I went out home to see him last Sunday and 
foimd him much improved. 

You know, I took him home ten days ago. He 
could not remain at the hospital on account of the 
beastly heat and exceedingly poor food. 

Received a letter from home this morning saying 



153 

he is able to be around some. The poor fellow has had 
a terrible siege of it, but, thank the Lord, he is getting 
over it. He sends his kindest greetings to you. 

Alice, I am sorry you did not think of going to the 
World's Fair. What detains you? If nothing prevents 
me I shall hope to go about the middle of July. Will 
we meet? Where is your telegraph station? 

Good night, Alice! Fare thee well, the wish of 
Your love in the West, 

Theodore. 



Oct. 3d. 
My dear Alice: — 

It always cheers me to hear from you, Alice. We 
have been treated miserably of late. We had the great 
misfortune to lose our dear mother, and we have nearly 
all been sick with grief ever since. It was a terrible 
shock and to me the hardest blow of my life. 

Alice, sympathize with me. Brother has recovered 
and returned to California to resume his duties. He 
asks me to remember him to you. Alice, I feel sorry 
for any one who has sickness in the family. 

Write to me again. 

Theodore. 



May i8th. 

Alice, my dear: — 

I received those pretty violets. Did you pick them 
for me? I was just thinking of you, leaning on my 
arm, strolling through rocks and clififs, picking sweet 
violets. How much sweeter they would be. But right 
here is what I feel sad at, one of your remarks — one that 



154 

you no doubt entertained on a rainy, cloudy day (not see 
each other's faces again and not gaze into your mild 
eyes anymore). Why, the very idea, Alice — absurd, 
perfectly. Do you remember what you thought the day 
I met you at the station in St. Louis, and what you said 
to me? No doubt, poor thing; you have had your 
troubles, and they will tell on one. But, Alice, a few 
peaceful months, plenty of fresh air and rest are pro- 
ductive of great changes, you know, and are bound to 
overcome and put away all that you seem alarmed 
about. 

Then, Alice, you are such an athletic woman! 
Why, such never grow old. Bah! Cheer up! Don't talk 
about old any more, please; it makes me tired. What 
may you be doing now? You have returned to the 
mountains. Who is with you? Alice, dear! As you 
see I am writing to you from the Jonah place, the 
Southern, where you would not love me a little bit, nor 
be loved. I have been thinking and come to a think- 
ing conclusion that you did not treat me right at all. 
Alice, strawberries are in again, but we are not to- 
gether. Oh, by the way, did the doctor send you 
one of his photographs — of himself? We speak of you 
so often. Have you made up your mind where you are 
going this summer? 

Now, if I could only invite and have you here to 
dine with me this evening — I would feel better than I 
do with more than a thousand miles between us. May 
this find you well and in happier spirits, 

So, farewell, dear Alice. 

Theodore. 



KS5 

Nov. 2 1 St. 
Oh! you Honolulu: — 

Well for the land of the living! Who'd think it? 
Alice, God bless you, dear! 

You are well and happy — how good that makes 
me feel! Do you know I have been thinking- about 
you? Your very welcome letter was received with 
open arms, and I've been feeling ''out of sight," so to 
say, all day. Post mark says "Honolulu, Oct. 31st — 
San Francisco, Nov. 17th, — and St. Louis, 21st." 

Seems impossible to me that I love you with that 
distance between us, but I do. 

Why did you not tell me more about yourself? 
You never even remarked how the weather was and, 
l)y the way, who was traveling with you? Oh, I do not 
care, you would not ask me along anyhow. You are 
mean. 

When are you coming back? Please, don't stay 
away for good; neither of us could die without com- 
ing face to face — yes, lips to lips, I dare say, on this 
puzzling earth again. 

I am well — same young chap. Brother the same, 
surgeon for the C. B., and every body alive of our family 
and fairly well. 

Alice, I happened to drop into Tony Faust's yester- 
day and spied a tray of strawberries, and I exclaimed 
"Halloo!" Alice, dear, they came from Florida. I 
wrote to you before you left the U. S. Promise never 
to slight me thus again. Yes, I know you will promise. 
Ada Rehan plays in town this week. Wish I could get 
tickets for two. I think I would be living then. I am 



156 

awfully glad you met somebody like me. You won't 
forget your innocent love altogether. Oh, yes; the 
girls! Oh, pshaw! I never loved one head over heels 
yet. If I ever find one like you I will say good bye! 
And, Alice, if I should ever get married, will you still 
love me? You are a good woman — Alice, think of that 
night, you angel. I fear I will make this letter so long 
that it will never reach you and I should like to stop, 
for the thought of you sets me nervous and I must try 
and forget you between now and bed time, or else I 
should feel sleepy to-morrow morning. 

So, farewell to you, dear, and God bless you, is 
the wish of 

Your love in the West, 

Theodore. 



Alice dear: — 

I wish you a bright, cheerful and happy new year. 

Theodore. 



March. 
Alice dear: — 

May be you ain't a birdie! Melbourne Feb. 8th! 
Will you stop off? 

A letter for the doctor, how nice! He will be greatly 
pleased — I am sure — I know it. 

He said to me that he wondered why Alice never 
thinks of him any more. 

Will this reach our "Alice?" Doubt it, but I must 
address you and I hope you feel it this very minute. 

I hope you got my letter at New Zealand. 



157 

Thanks, thanks twice for that sweet likeness of 
yours. It made the bottom side of my heart flutter. 
I treasure a photo of Alice, taken in Zululand, highly. 
Thanks, you little rascal; are you coming home via 
Africa? God bless you (while you are gone) and help 
you to land safely again on U. S. soil in strawberry 
time. 

Farewell, darling angel; write to me, Alice. 
Your loving boy, 

Theodore. 



4/8. 
Alice dear: — 

Too bad you didn't put yourself right in the centre 
of that pretty bouquet and come along to St. Louis. 
I am sure you would not have been out of place peep- 
ing out of a bunch of roses. Nevertheless I was greatly 
pleased as it was. 

Thanks, Alice! 

I am just recovering from a severe attack of I.a 
Grippe — been down several weeks with it. 

Think I'll migrate to California or some other 
warm climate sometime, or I will surely die soon here. 

How would an invitation to the Grand Opera 
(Abbey and Grau) strike you to-night or any night 
this week? 

Wish I could have escorted you to "Romeo et 
Juliette" Monday eve, Mme. Melba and the two De 
Reskes. 

Write me a letter soon, Alice, please. Kisses for 
roses. 

Sincerely and lovingly, 

Theodore, 



158- 

My dear Alice: — 

Why so quiet? I hope you are not ill. Straw- 
berries are ripe again. The sight of them means 
pleasant remembrances. I am better again and hope 
you are more so. Nothing new here. 
Write soon, please. 

Yours as always, 

Theodore. 



My dear Alice: — •. 

Photo received; it's pretty. Impressed me with a 
desire to see you again and give you a good hug. 

I placed you on my dresser and see you every 
morning. You know, I live with sister way out in the 
West end. My younger sister is also there and going 
to school. She is very sweet and cute now. Golden hair 
and pale face, blue eyes and pug nose. Sister H. 
had a little girl, and after we all learned to love it, it 
died. It was nearly two years old. My younger brother 
is also a doctor. He is a six footer. L. is at California. 
He was with us on Sunday last and I handed him your 
photo. He seemed delighted to be face to face with 
Alice. Pa is still at our country home killing time, 
hunting and fishing and keeping hunting dogs. We 
all go to see him occasionally. More later on. Alice, 
I don't seem to understand the real estate transaction 
you refer to in your last letter. How are you fixed? 
Can I come up to see you sometime when I have a 
chance, which I expect may be some time this fall? 
You had better post me so I won't drop in on you, for, 
when I drop, I generally stay awhile. 



159 

I may spend the winter in California. I am getting 
tired of Grippe every year; still I don't know what I'll 
do. Where do yon think you will move to? Don't 
forget to let me know, dear Alice. 

With much love, your affectionate. 

Theodore. 

A kiss for your photo. Please excuse penmanship. 
Must be 200 in the shade— 4.30 P.M. 



Alice dear: — 

Do you know that I have been real angry with 
you (don't cher know) for not writing to me? 

I thought to myself. Ah, ha! It's summer again; 
sweet Alice is playing summer girl and doesn't want me 
to drop in. 

Your cute little letter from London made me feel 
"better." But say, my fair rover, may be you ain't a 
daisy. You are much too far away for me to think about 
you. And how can I picture that sweet Alice's South- 
ern laugh with miles of salt water between us? Some- 
how I do not want the picture — I want the real one, 
don't you forget it? 

Alice, my health has greatly improved lately, al- 
though I only weigh one hundred and forty pounds 
and carry not an ounce of superfluous flesh, although 
I would look well with some. 

I wish I could have crossed the ocean with you — 
bet sixteen to one I could add thirty pounds in a very 
short while. 

I ride my wheel a great deal, and that keeps me in 
good shape. 



i6o 

By the way, you don't ride, Alice? If you and I 
could do London on a wheel, wouldn't that be gay and 
nice? Then I fish, and next month shooting season 
opens, and that will get all my spare time for sixty 
days. 

Fare thee well, Alice, and God be with thee. 

Theodore. 

Alice! Money is getting very close here. Too 
much politics cannot buy gold. So look out and do not 
let yourself get separated from your bank account. 

T. 



Newark, N. J., 3/23. 
My beloved friend: — 

I heard only to-day of your loss by the death of 
your beloved husband. I am truly sorry to hear of it 
and extend to you my heartfelt sympathy. I hope you 
remember who I am. I feel sure you do and I sincerely 
hope to hear from you very soon. I want to extend to 
you now, in time of your affliction, the hand of friend- 
ship and of love. I am poor at consolation, but what 
I try to do is most faithfully sincere and true. 

I am not in Trenton now, nor at Philadelphia. 
The above is my business address where all letters will 
reach me. I sincerely hope and trust one will come 
here from you very, very soon. 

I have thought of you many times of late, and I 
have wondered where you were and how I could reach 
you. Please, be kind enough to write to me and tell 
me when I can see you and where I can write to you. 

Very faithfully and sincerely, 

Yours always, 

Seth. 



i6i 

New York, June 15th. 

T have ])cf()rc nic a letter dated "Wednesday 18 — ," 
written by one I tliou^dit niucli of, who at that time was 
a guest at the Gedney House. I have treasured that 
letter these years, because it was the first and only 
one I ever received from her. In it she tells me, as I 
look at it,'Svrite to me care of Gedney House, and I will 
call for it soon; write only once until you hear again 
from me. \\'ith much love, etc., etc." I have not heard 
since. Having waited a reasonably long time, I take 
the opportunity of writing to the address given me by 
one of her friends, and endeavor to reopen our long 
closed correspondence and friendship. 

Will you not kindly write to one in confidence, 
who is your ardent admirer and who has always re- 
membered you kindly and with love? 

I shall be glad to hear from you and, perhaps, we 
can arrange to see one another some day when we can 
say face to face what had better not be written. 

Please write and tell me that you remember 
Yours as ever, 

Seth. 



New York, October. 
My dear Alice: — 

I got a letter from ]\Irs. B on the ist, in 

which she says that the horses, dogs, cat and chickens 
are all doing well and that James is well and was 
graveling the carriage road and was taking good care 
of everything so far. This letter was in reply to one I 
wrote, asking for news. No answer to your letter 
reached the Vendome, and I thought it best to see 



l62 

how things stood. I duly received your several cards 
written in the cars on your way across the continent, 
and the final one, written on the day of your departure 
from San Francisco, and was very glad to know that so 
far at least all had gone well. It is to me wonderful 
how quickly and entirely your hurt foot recovered, and 
I only hope that there may have been no relapse. I 
am looking for a letter from you within a few days from 
Honolulu and shall then know how you found things 
on board ship. I trust your state room was a pleasant 
one and that the passengers were agreeable and that 
your room mate— if you had one— was not of the fussy 
or sea-sick variety. Your Honolulu letter will no doubt 
tell me about these things. How time flies! You are 
due in Auckland to-morrow, no, to-day, and have very 
likely already been met by the brother you have so 

long been separated from. The telegram to L , 

sent a few days after you sailed, contained just four 
words, the address made 5 more, and the charge was 
$13.68 — $1.52 a word — so you perceive writing is some- 
what more economical; but if the dispatch reached him 
all right and he was in Auckland to receive you, it was 
money well spent. I have heard nothing from the G's 
as yet, nor have I seen Mrs. A. The latter instance is 
not a very strange one, inasmuch as the only chance 
of seeing her would be an accidental meeting on the 
street. I have been very well. Heard Melba sing 
Sunday night and Plancon. They both did splendidly. 
You recollect Melba gets her stage name from Mel- 
bourne, where she came from. If New Zealand can 
send along a singer equal to her, let her come. There 
is plenty of room for all such artists in this region, and 



i63 

there are but very few in the world equal to her. We 
had a general election all over the country yesterday. 
The Tammany ring in this city was routed — horse, 
foot and artillery, and the Republicans made immense 
gains everywhere. We are even going to have a 
Republican Board of Aldermen in this city, a thing 
that has not occurred before within my memory. I 
shall send you by this mail yesterday's and to-day's 
papers, containing particulars of the results of the fight. 
The very latest news is that there is some doubt as to 
the Board of Aldermen — three districts being in dis- 
pute. . 

It has rained here half the time lately, and in Mas- 
sachusetts a heavy snowstorm occurred the other day, 
and they had to get their snow plough out in Hanover 
to clear the roads. 

Sothern, Hopper and the "Milk White Flag" are 
still flourishing. Sothern is the only one of the three 
that I have seen, since you saw them with me. Lillian 
Russell has just brought out her new English success, 
'The Queen of Brilliants." The papers do not agree 
in their criticisms of it. I shall have to take it in and 
judge for myself. There are some other new things, 
which, if you were here, I would take you to see; but I 
trust you are going to have so good a time in New 
Zealand that you will not miss the New York theatres. 

You must write and tell me how things out there 
strike you. 

I do hope you will get a saddle to ride on that 
suits you and a horse equal to Billy. 

Most of your money here has been invested, leav- 



164 

ing you about enough to buy five bonds more, which 
no doubt will be done before I write again. 

Matters here are moving along quietly. There is 
nothing of a personal nature to communicate that is at 
all startling. 

I shall expect that Honolulu letter of yours to bring 
me good news of you up to that date, and the first one 
from New Zealand to be of the same kind, and the suc- 
ceedingf ones ditto. 



With best wishes, 



Your Friend. 



New York, December. 
My dear Alice :— 

Since last writing I have your two letters, posted 
in Honolulu and Samoa, and was delighted to hear that 
up to that stage of your long journey everything had 
gone so well and that you had had so agreeable a trip. 
It was strange that you should meet with people that 

knew Mrs. T , and had been to the mountains and 

remembered your house. 

Samoa is the home of the novelist Stevenson, who 
went there to live in consequence of having consump- 
tion, and, from what you say, he must have made a 
wise selection for his home. I saw in the Herald the 
arrival of the *'Monowai" at Auckland on the i8th, so I 
hope the rest of the voyage was as pleasant as the first 
half and that your brother was at Auckland to meet you. 

The G 's arrived on the 15th, and Mr. G 

called to see me next day. He was looking in splendid 
health, in fact, so rugged that I did not know him. 
His wife had a hard time coming over, being sea-sick. 



t6s 

They were g^oing out of town for a few weeks; but I 
think they have returned to town, as he called a,2:ain 
a few days ago, Init I was out. I was in hopes he might 
come in again ere this, so that I might give you the 

latest news of them. L 's wife has presented him 

with a little girl. You remember, perhaps, that they 

have a boy, some seven or eight years old. J 

seems pleased with the new comer, but says he is not 
getting as sound a sleep as before. The natural antics 
of infants are among the penalties of having them, 
however, and must be borne with good grace. 

The horse show was a great afTair — crowded every 
night. It might, perhaps, be better called a fashionable 
woman's show, for the 400 filled the boxes in the gid- 
diest, gayest attire. They are now doing the same 
thing at the opera, but' have less on; more of themselves 
is now to be seen. Melba, whom you heard and re- 
member, is singing beautifully and acting better than 
last season. One American prima donna, Emma Eames, 
made her first appearance for the winter the other 
night, and so did Nordica, another American. It is 
curious that out of the three leading prima donnas now 
here two are American and the other Australian — not 
one of them Italian, and of the leading male singers 
two are Poles and two French. The Italians now-a- 
days seem to be taking second place. 

I send you a Harper's Weekly, showing some of 
the Horse Show scenes, and hope it gets to Kamo 
safe. 

Do you remember, in De Wolf Hopper's operetta. 
Dr. Syntax, where one of the girls leads a little dog 
on the stage and says she calls him "Chauncey De- 



i66 

pew," because he speaks for his supper? Well, I was 
there one night, when the real Chauncey Depew sat 
right behind me and seemed to enjoy the joke very 
much, but a young lady, who was with him, took it 
very seriously and seemed to think it necessary to be 
very severe and dignified for the remainder of the per- 
formance. By the time she has doubled her age she 
will very likely have halved that dignity of hers. I 
notice that many people mellow with age. 

I have not heard a word from the mountains since 
last writing and take it for granted everything is going 

on right, but shall write up again shortly to Mrs. B 

and find out. 

I have been very well since you left. I was sorry 
to hear that leather bag had turned out so poorly, but 
the sea air did it I guess. The one you bought for your 
sister, being packed away, will, I think, open up all 
right. 

It was luck, was It not, that you happened to 
strike the best boat of the line? I am wondering if you 
will return in her. I see she leaves Auckland on the 
20th. Your life in New Zealand must be something 
of a novelty, but yet, I imagine, you fall into it quite 
readily, being in good health and entirely at home on 
a horse's back. 

I am thinking you are enjoying things there very 
much with your brother and sister and nieces. I am 
sure they will all like you. 

By New Year's a letter from Kamo should reach 
me from you, which I hope to get and find it filled ^''ath 

good news of you. 

With love, 

Your Friend 



i6y 

The mountains. 
Dear Madame: — 

Please excuse the Hberty I take in writing you. 
I would like very nmch to become acquainted with 
you, if agreeable. 

I met you twice last week and was very much im- 
pressed with your appearance. Any correspondence be- 
tween us will l)e sacred and strictly confidential, for my 
intentions are perfectly honorable. 

If you should decide not to answer, please destroy 
this note or return it to . 

Very truly yours, 



April i8th. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

My brother Winfred has just returned from the 
West and after all these years given up the fight for 
life. He is in a very precarious condition, and we can- 
not tell how long he may be with us. It is his special 
request that I write you his message of farewell. He 
says he cannot go without saying good bye to one who 
has afforded him so many pleasant and comfortable 
hours when he was most in need of a cheering com- 
panion. Any message or letter you may care to entrust 
to me I will be most happy to deliver for you. 

With kindest regards, 

Yours, 

Winfred's Brother. 



i68 

Dear Mrs. Robinson : — 

In consultation with Winfred last night he says he 
would very much like to see you, but does not know 
that he will be able to, even if you should take the 
trouble to come over. If you are willing to take the 
chances, why, come ahead. He is with mother at 

No. . It is really very doubtful whether you will 

be able to see him should you come. 

If you are likely to be in New York or Brooklyn 
any evening I would take great pleasure in calling on 
you and will deliver some messages that are entrusted 
to me, but of which I shall not write pending your pos- 
sible opportunity of seeing Winfred in person. 

Meantime regard me as your friend and confidant 
in all matters pertaining to Winfred. 

With kindest regards and hoping soon to meet 
again, I am, 

Yours, 

Winfred's Brother. 

If you request it I will make an evening out to 
you at your pleasure. 

To Mrs. Alice Robinson. 



Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Your letter was received this morning. The dear 
boy died last night at eleven. 

My kindest regards to you and let me come and 
see you sometime. 

The funeral will be private. 

Yours, X 

Winfred's Brother. 



169 

Dear Airs. Robinson : — 

In your last letter to Winfred, directed in my care, 
you made request for one of his photos. I doubt if 
I could find an extra copy of his last picture and, per- 
haps, it is just as well, for it does not show him as you 
knew him. It is the picture of an invalid and, I think, 
you would much prefer the likeness I enclose. This 
shows him as I saw him when I visited him last sum- 
mer to get what I thought would be my last talk with 
him, and in reality it was our last talk, for after his 
home coming he was changed — changed so that there 
was none of his immense show of pluck and ambition 
left in him. He came home to end his days with his old 
mother, and he knew how short the time would be. 

I hope you will like his picture. It is not one of 
New York's city refinement, but shows him in his 
rugged Western simplicity and is altogether an excel- 
lent likeness. 

He spoke much of you during his last days and left 
some few messages for you. 

I shall expect to see you some day and talk to 
you more fully of the dear boy. 

With kindest regards, I remain, 
Yours, 

Winfred's Brother. 



March 29th. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson : — 

I beg to acknowledge receipt of picture, which will 
find a pleasant place among my friends and it will al- 
ways serve as a reminder of our meeting and the de- 
lightful trip down the Hudson. 



170 

Hope you have fully rested from your long journey 
and are again surrounded by your many friends. 

I will send you some views when taken in the early 
spring. *■ 

With pleasant wishes, believe me, 

Very truly. 

r^ iv/r -n 1 . ^^^ York. 

Dear Mrs. Robmson:— 

You don't know how pleased I was to receive your 

letter Mr. E and myself have often spoken of you 

and the very pleasant time we had for so short an ac 
quaintance. 

It is great pleasure for me to recall instances of 
this kind. 

Have been here in the city most of the time 
Often have I thought of you while alone at dinner 
How much nicer one could relish it in the company of 
a nice and agreeable lady to share it with. I can sav 
the same of the theatre. Were you here in the city 
and saw fit to accept of these two pleasures I could 
have assured you a good time. Have had but little 
else to do to other than enjoy myself. I accidentally 

came across our other mutual friend, Mrs R You 

remember her? She looked very charming and asked 
II i had seen you. 

Your friend, the Gold Plum Pudding, I do not 
think very generous or else he would have given it to 
you as a souvenir and he, why, he would have never 
missed It, judging from the way he spoke of his inter- 
est in mines, etc. But, you know, sometimes talk is 
very cheap. 



171 

I can fully appreciate the state of your feelings 
up there, in among the snow banks, after coming from 
such a delightful climate. 

Am planning a trip to Colorado and expect to 
leave next Tuesday or Wednesday, If anything should 
happen, then I don't go. If you will let me know 
when and where you are to be in the city you can rest 
assured that I will call on you. 

Will be in Poughkeepsie next Monday and Tues- 
day, c./o. Hotel. Will be delighted to hear from 

you there and in case the letter fails to reach you in 
time, my address for the next four weeks will be 

c./o. Hotel, Denver, Colo. Will not be there all 

of the time, but anything sent there will be forwarded 
to me on a day's notice. Have been out walking, and 
my hand is so unsteady that I can scarcely write. 

To-night I go to see Trilby"; last night Mr. and 
Mrs. Kendal; the night before the Casino; one before 
that, Koster and Bial's, and previous to that Bellew 
and Mrs. Potter, so you see I keep on the move. 

Hope you can read this letter without being ex- 
hausted. 

I will be pleased to have the pleasure of a letter 
at Poughkeepsie and, if agreeable, when I come on the 
first of September, I will be pleased to renew our ac- 
quaintance. 

Your friend, 

B. B. 



Chicago, 111. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Your interesting letter of the 19th received, and 
pleased me very much. You see, T am on my way to 



172 

Denver. Expect to leave here Sunday noon and dine 
in Denver Monday evening at 7 P.M. Will try and 

locate our Gold Plum Pudding. Saw Mr. E and 

gave him your message. The meeting of Mrs. R 

was purely chance and I mentioned it as a singiflar 
coincidence. Three minutes before I had passed the Ho- 
tel Marlborough and she popped into my mind, and on 
the next block you can imagine my surprise at meeting 
her. Well, our short acquaintance proved very pleasant 
or, at least, was so to me and, judging from your note, 
you were sufficiently so as not to forget me. I do en- 
joy nice company so much when it is a nice, agreeable 
lady. You must not think by this that I enjoy the so- 
ciety of all ladies. That is not so, because I am very 
fastidious and like to select my company. You can 
see from this letter that you come in under the head of 
those that I admire. 

How perfectly stupid my trip has been from 
Poughkeepsie here — no one to talk to. There was only 
one nice young lady in my car. She acted as if she 
would like some one to cheer her up; but dear old 
mamma was with her, so that was spoiled. My journey 
seemed one of a week. How I wished our little party 
of four were going to accompany one to Denver. 
Wouldn't we have a jolly time? I see, you as well as 
myself, while in New York, got around some. Don't 
know why you should underscore "not" in regard to 
the bronze models. In comparison to some of the 
others they were decidedly modest, and for the life of 
me I cannot see why they have made such a fuss over 
them. I don't take much stock in these straight-laced 
people. 



1/3 

You mention your large open fire-place — that re- 
minds me of my boyhood days; we had just such an 
old fire-place. When you talk about comfort I think 
one finds it there on a cold, stormy night. Hickory 
nuts, cider and apples — how I wish I could have them 
now. I would have enjoyed meeting you in New York; 
I believe I could have given you a pleasant time. I see 
you are fond of the theatre, after theatre means a nice 
little supper; you are then in a condition to enjoy a 

nice little chat. I said to Mr. E that upon short 

acquaintance you proved a very nice and interesting 
person, and the more we saw of you the better we 
liked you. I sincerely hope, when I come on in the 
fall, I may have the pleasure of renewing our friendship. 
How nice in you to remember that poor man. I hope, 
for your sake, he will be kind to the poor animal. You 
must derive lots of pleasure from those cobs and your 
saddle horse. It will only be a few days now when 
the country will look the most lovely. The foliage is 
coming out so fast and the flowers so beautiful and 
sw^et. I wonder after this scrawl if you can find time 
to write me while in Colorado. My headquarters will be 
Hotel. I can get my mail from there every twenty- 
four hours in any part of the State. Will try and write 
you some time when I am not in so much of a hurry. 
But I am afraid, if I don't write now, I will not have 
another opportunity until after I reach Denver. Take 
good care of the dogs and horses. When out airing 
them, occasionally, think of me, and by all means cure 
that cold. 

Trusting this will find you well and happy, believe 
"^e, Your friend, B. B. 



174 
Auckland, New Zealand, Nov. 17th. 
Mrs. Robinson. 
My dearest friend: — 

I received your kind and most welcome letter 
yesterday morning and hasten to answer it, as the mail 
leaves at 10.30 P.M. I cannot tell you the pleasure it 
gave me to receive a letter from one so dear to me and 
to know that, although we are absent from each other, 
you do not forget me. I felt awfully lonely that 
night on the wharf after the steamer left. I felt as 
though I had parted from the best and only friend I 
had in the world. It is strange that such a feeling 
should spring up in such a short acquaintance with 
both of us. I say both of us, because I believe the feel- 
ing to be mutual. By the way you express yourself 
in your letter I hope you were not ofifended at the way 
I spoke that evening in the hotel parlor. I could not 
help it. I was sincere in all I said, and I am still. My 
feelings towards you now are just the same, and it 
lies with you whether we are to part forever or not. 
I know I have been wild, but -I am over that now. My 
health is on the mend, which I know you will be 
very glad to hear. I will leave here for Sydney this 
week. As soon as I make a move I will write and let 
you know. 

In your letter you say that you do not know what 
I will think of you, because you wished I was with you. 
Well, I can only think one thing and that is that your 
thoughts were the same as mine. I would give any- 
thing to be with you all the time. You need not think 
that I kept my put-off engagement with those young 



175 

ladies, because I did not. I have not felt like visiting 
since you left — why? you can tell yourself. 

So, now my dear friend, I must close. Hoping 
you are enjoying yourself and trusting that you will 
not be offended when I say, with best love, 
I remain sincerely yours, 

Leonard. 
P.S. — Kindly write at once, as I will anxiously 
await an answer. L. 



Auckland, New Zealand, Nov. 22d. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson. 
My dearest friend: — 

I have just received your kind and most welcome 
letter this morning and now^ hasten to answer it, as 
the mail leaves this afternoon. You had not received 
my letter when you wrote this last one, but I hope you 
got it soon after. If I have said anything in it offen- 
sive to you I hope you will forgive me, but w^hatever I 
said was sincere and I could not help it; I had to write 
the promptings of my heart. If the memory of that 
evening is fresh in your memory you can imagine how 
it is in mine, and, oh, don't I wish for it again. But 
you say it can never be. That remains with you. Your 
will is mine in this matter and by you I will be guided. 
But I would like to see you just once more. Oh, for 
another happy hour, but I am afraid it w^ll never be. 
I cannot write sentiment, but I can write sense. Now, 
my dear friend, I must tell you the news. I leave here 
on the 28th, at 5 P.M., for Sydney. My health is im- 
proving all the time but slowly. I will write again 



176 

before I leave, and give you all particulars. We are 
having miserable weather, raining and blowing all the 
time, and I have not been out much lately. I hope 
you will answer this at once. If you do, I will get it 
before I leave. I should like to know for certain when 
you intend to go to Sydney, as I am going to do my 
best to see you again, if possible, unless you object; 
any letters you write address them here and they will 
deliver them to me as soon as they can. I will send you 
my photo as soon as taken, and that will be as soon 
as possible. And I do earnestly hope I get yours 
before I leave. You say you will stay at the Australia 
in Sydney. Let me know that I may not make a mis- 
take. Let me know where you will be at Christmas 
and you may depend on a letter from me. 

So, now I must close. Trusting this will find you 
well in health, and living in the hope of seeing you 
once more before you return home, believe me, with 
best love, 

Yours most sincerely, 

Leonard. 

I have lots more to say, but I dare not say it ; your 
letter forbids me. Good bye! Think of me some- 
times. L. 



Auckland, New Zealand, Nov. 23d. 
Mrs. Robinson. 
My dearest friend: — 

Your kind and welcome letter of last Monday has 
just arrived, and as the ''Wellington" sails for Whan- 
garei very soon I take the first opportunity of answering 



1/7 

it. This is the third letter I have sent you, and I hope 
you have got them all right. I made a mistake in my 
first letter when I told you my steamer left on Wednes- 
day ; she leaves here on the 28th for Sydney. I will send 
you a letter on my arrival at Sydney, and hope to have 
a letter from you telling me when you intend going to 
Sydney. I do not know of any place where you could 
board in private apartments, but I will try and find you 
a nice place, while I am there, and I will let you know 
before you leave. I have made up my mind to see you 
again if it is at all possible, and spend another happy 
evening or even hour w^ith you before we part, per- 
haps, forever, as you say. You advise me to remain 
here, and you say I may find some young lady with 
lots of money. I hope you don't think I could fall in 
love with any young lady because she has lots of 
money. Money is a very nice thing to have, but if I 
did not care for the person I would not marry her if 
she was loaded with money. You say I have a girl 
in Sydney. Well, I have lots of fair friends there, but 
there is not one among them that is anything more 
to me than another. I could not lead any girl to think 
I cared for her, when I did nof. It is strongly against 
my principles. I like them all as friends, and they 
seem to like me, but no more. I spoke to you on that 
subject, because I really care for you and love you. 
But you reject me on principles of your own and I 
cannot help but admire you and sincerely trust that our 
friendship will always continue. I am having a very 
quiet time here. When you go home to New York 
I hope you wdll think of me sometimes and write me' 
a letter. I cannot tell you the pleasure it will give me 



178 

to receive and answer a letter from the dearest friend 
I have in the world. I can't reconcile myself to the 
fact that I will never see yon ag-ain. The memory of 
that evening is so fresh in my mind that it is not easy 
to forget it. I sometimes wish that I could and then 
again I would not forget it for anything. A pleasant 
hour like we spent ought not to be forgotten, as it is 
a bright light in many a dark hour. It will be to me. 

Now, my dearest, I must close, hoping to have one 
more letter before I sail and another one when I arrive. 

With best love and wishes for your future welfare, 
believe me to remain, 

Yours most sincerely, 

Leonard. 



Auckland, New Zealand, Nov. 17th. 
Mrs. Robinson. 
My dearest friend: — 

I received your telegram yesterday morning and 
now hasten to answer it. My steamer is in, and I have 
just been down on board, and I sail to-morrow even- 
ing at 5 P.M. Your letter will be here on Thursday 
morning; letters will be kept for me. My health is so 
far -improved now that I think by the time I get through 
my trip I will be well. I will see if I can find you a 
nice place to stay in in Sydney. I will be there about the 
middle of January, and I hope to see you then. If I 
should not see you then I am afraid I will not see you 
again. We are having beastly weather here — raining 
all the time. I hope you are getting better weather in 
Kamo, if not, I am afrail you won't enjoy yourself 



179 

much. Did you feel the earthquake last Sunday morn- 
ing? We felt it pretty bad. It woke me up; the house 
was going from side to side like a ship at sea. Well, 
dear friend, my holiday is over now, and I am to return 
to work. I suppose we cannot always have a holiday. 
I will be in Hobart Christmas day. I have no friends 
there, so don't suppose I shall enjoy it much. I will 
send you a letter to reach you as near Christmas as I 
possibly can. 

Although we may never see each other again we 
need not forget each other, and a letter occasionally 
from you will be very acceptable, I can assure you, and 
to answer it will be a great pleasure to me, and if ever 
I land anywhere near New York you may depend I 
will come and see you. 

So now, my dearest friend, I must close, with fond- 
est and best wishes for your future, and, living in the 
hope of seeing you again some day, believe me to be 
Your most sincere friend 

Leonard. 



Sydney, Dec. nth. 
Mrs. Robinson. 
My dearest friend: — 

I arrived here to-day. I received your two letters 
and also the proof of your photo, which I think is a very 
good one. I cannot tell you the pleasure it gave me 
to receive and read your letters and to know that you 
don't forget me. The last letter was very short. I 
hope I have not offended you at all — or were you too 
tired, to write a long letter? I think that was the reason, 



i8o 

for if I had offended you, you would have told me. I 
received a telegram from you the day I sailed and 
would have answered it, but it was from Whangarei 
and I did not know where to send it. I thought you 
had perhaps left Kamo and were on your way to Auck- 
land. But the answers that you asked for you found 
in my letter. I wrote you about the sailing and arriv- 
ing of the steamers and when to write. I am very 
sorry you are not comfortable at Kamo ; but cheer up. 
The time will soon pass and then we must see each 
other once again before we part, perhaps, forever, to 
kiss good bye. It is a hard thing to say good bye for- 
ever to those who are near and dear to us. But cir- 
cumstances will not always allow us to do what we 
would like to. My dear friend, you tell me, if ever I 
marry to marry a girl I love. Well, I hope you 
don't think I would marry any one whom I did not 
love. But I am afraid the day is very far distant, when 
I get married. I do hope to see you soon. I cannot 
find suitable apartments for you. Will try again. 

Now, my dearest friend, I hope these lines will find 
you in the best of health and spirits, living in the dear 
hope of seeing you once again. So with best love and 
a kiss, I remain 

Your most sincere friend, 

Leonard. 



Sydney, 17/2. 
Mrs. Robinson. 

My dearest friend: — 

Just a few lines which I hope will reach you about 
Christmas, wishing you a very merry Christmas and 



i8t 

a happy and prosperous New Year, which. I can assure 
you, is the licartfelt wish of your friend. I would have 
written before, but I have been so busy and often too 
tired for anything. We had a passenger who committed 
suicide by jumping overboard the night we sailed. 
The boat was out one hour, but no trace of him could 
be seen, and the night after a baby died on board. I 
hope you got my letter. I was awfully busy and I am 
sure you will excuse the black lead. I often look at 
your photo and think of that happy evening at the 
hotel and the hurry down to the wharf — and then the 
boat sailing and leaving me on the wharf alone. I felt 
very lonely. I wonder will we ever meet again. I hope 
so sincerely. But although we may never meet again 
I am sure we will never forget each other. I am sending 
you my photo along with this. I hope you get it all 
right and let me know whether you like it or not. I 
wish I was where I could spend my Xmas with you; 
wouldn't we have a happy time? Be sure and not dis- 
appoint me. I will look forward with great pleasure to 
receiving a letter from you, and will be very much dis- 
appointed if I do not get it. 

My dearest friend. I must close. With best love 
and a merry Christmas to you from 

Yours sincerely, 

Leonard. 



]^Ielbourne, June 12th. 
Mrs. Alice Robinson. 
My dear friend: — 

Just a few lines to let you know that I am still in 
the land of the living and that I am well, and I sincerely 



l82 

hope that you are the same. You will be surprised to 
receive a letter from me, but I cannot forget an old 
friend like you. I do not know whether you will be 
pleased to hear from me or not, but I think and hope 
that you will be. I hope you enjoyed your trip home 
and that you found everything right when you arrived. 
I am sure you would be glad to get home again. I 
wish you lived in San Francisco so that I might some- 
time see you. I often think of you and of the confi- 
dential little chats we used to have together, and of 
that evening in the Albert Hotel and at the Domain. 
I have that ring that you gave me, and I prize it very 
much. Everybody admires it. I wonder if I will ever 
see you again. I hope so. If ever I land in New York 
again I will come and see you. I missed you a great 
deal after you left. You made me promise to write and 
tell you if ever I got married. Well, I will do so if 
ever that day dawns on me; but I have not found the 
girl yet, so I guess it is a long way of¥. Besides, I 
can't afiford to get married yet. Dey told me that he 
received a letter from you from New York, and I was 
rather disappointed and I think a little jealous, be- 
cause I did not get one. But I hope you will answer 
this and let me know how you are. If you are still 
v^^riting to Dey, do not tell him that I have written to 
you. I don't wish him to know. So now, my dear Mrs. 
Robinson, I must close. With love from, 

Yours very sincerely, 

Leonard. 



i83 

wSan Francisco. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Your long, kind and welcome letter just to hand, 
and am glad to hear that you are well in health. We 
sail this afternoon at 2 o'clock, so I have no time to 
write a long letter. I am very sorry you cannot help 
nie in my little difficulty, but I know that everything 
is dull now, most everything. I sincerely hope your 
book is a great success, but expect to hear on our ar- 
rival, if we come back. No time to say more at present. 
\\'ill write from Samoa. So now, my dear friend, I 
must close. With kindest regards and best wishes, be- 
lieve me to remain, 

Yours sincerely, 

Leonard. 
Good bye and good luck. Excuse scrawl ; am in a 
terrible hurry. I guess the air will be blue on the dock 
this afternoon. L. 



At sea. 
My dear friend, Mrs. Robinson: — 

I now take the extreme pleasure of answering 
your letter, which I only received the day we sailed. 
I was rather surprised to hear of your writing a book. 
I sincerely trust it is a great success. If it is you must 
let me know. I am glad you are pleased with my pic- 
ture. I think it is very good myself. I am sorry it 
cannot speak to you as you wish — I would make it do 

so if I could. Yes, L has struck luck, at last. 

But he has another trouble now ; his hair is all coming 
out in patches and his moustache also, and it is making 
him wild. I think he is afraid his girl won't have him 



i84 

with bald patches on his head. Good luck to him, I 
say. I would not mind having- one thousand of his 
cash. It would come in handy just now. I do not 
know just what will become of me. I want to give this 
up anyhow, and what I will get into then, God only 
knows. But I guess I will pull out of it all right in time. 
I am not a fellow that gives in very easily. Those were 
indeed happy days we passed together, and I am glad 
that you look back to them as golden days. I do. I 
wonder will we ever meet again. Would you care to 
see me if I came to New York at any time, in not 
quite such comfortable circumstances as I am now in? 
I hope I never do; but a fellow like me never knows 
where he may fetch up. I think I would be ashamed 
to come and see you, although it might not be my fault, 

but my misfortune. I saw Mrs. A the day I got 

your letter, but it was before I received it. I got the 
letter about half an hour after she went away. She and 

E came down to the ship. I did think of you the day 

we sailed, but I had no occasion to make the air blue — 
everything went pretty smoothly. I will get you a 
photo of the Cemetery Bridge if I possibly can. I will 
try in Auckland. We did have a lovely time that even- 
ing. Do you remember the night the "Wellington" 
sailed, and me on the dock holloaing out that I would 
see you in New York? I did not expect to see you 
again anyhow, but strange things turn up in this 
world. 

It is now 9 o'clock on Thursday night, and we will 
be in Samoa about midnight and sail to-morrow morn- 
ing for Sydney. I am quite well. Many thanks for the 
kind inquiry. There is some talk of the ship not re- 



i85 

turning to Frisco, but we will know for certain in 
bydncy. I will write and let you know if we should not 
come back. I hope she does go back. I hope there is 
one of your new photos for me. I will expect one when 
we arrive back on the loth of December and will ex- 
pect a letter on arrival with the good news that your 
book IS a grand success. If we do not come back the 
letter will be forwarded to New Zealand. Evervthin- 
IS pretty much the same on board. There are more here 
than I care to remember you to. I am awfully greedy, 
ain't I? So now, my dear friend, I must close. 

With every good wish and a fond kiss, believe me 
Ever your sincere friend, 

Leonard. 
Think of me sometimes. 



At sea. 
My dear. Mrs. Robinson:— 

^ At last I have received an answer to my last letter, 
which I thought I was never going to get. You posted 
the letter on the 3d of December to Frisco and I re- 
ceived it in Honolulu on April 4th, so this is the first 
chance I have had of answering it. 

We arrive in Samoa to-morrow, Sunday, on our 
way to Sydney, and this will come up by the "Alono- 
wai." I do not know where the letter has been, but 
I am very glad I have got it at last. I really had begun 
to think that I had said something to offend you in 
my last letter, but I am very thankful such is not the 
case. 

Well, about L . I do not know whether you 

know, but his marriage is off. I will hang on here, but 



i86 

am properly sick of it. I wish to goodness I could get 
something to do ashore in the United States. So 

Mrs. T wants you to come to CaHfornia to join 

her. Well, what do you think of it? Are you going to 
do it? So you really would be glad to see me again, 
and wouldn't I be glad to see you? Gosh, didn't we 
enjoy our little selves the few opportunities we had of 
doing so? Well, I live in hopes of seeing you some 
day. I am keeping well, but nearly got killed. One 
day lately had a fall, but am all right now. All thought 
I was killed — it was a close call. 

I do not see the C 's now. I do not know how 

they are. I am sorry your photos were a failure, but 
I hope the next ones will be better and that there will 
be one of them for me. Well, now, my dear friend, 
I must close, hoping to have a long letter from you on 
my arrival in Frisco and trusting you are in the best 
of health. 

With fondest love and best wishes from 
Yours sincerely, 

Leonard. 

I cannot tell you how glad I was when I received 
your lettei. I really thought I had offended you. I 
was always wondering what was the matter and was 
going to write and ask you, but thank goodness, every- 
thing is all right. You do not know how much I value 
your friendship. 

Good bye, 

L. 



187 

San Francisco. 
Mrs. Robinson. 

My dear friend: — 

I received your kind and most welcome letter the 
other day and I now hasten to answer it. I would have 
done so sooner, but I have been awfully busy. I re- 
ceived news of the death of my young brother and I 
have had so much to do arranging things for my 
mother and sisters that I have had not a minute's time 
to spare. This will be a short note, as we sail in an 
hour, but I will write you a more lengthy one from 
Honolulu. I am very well in health, but low in spirits; 
he was my favorite brother and I feel his death very 
much — but I must shake myself up or I will get melan- 
choly. 

Well, my dear friend, good bye for the present, 
and you will get another letter in about three weeks 
or a month after this. 

Trusting you are quite well and hoping you will 
enjoy your holiday, believe me to remain ever 
Your sincere friend, 

Leonard. 

I know you will excuse this short note under the 
circumstances. L. 



On the Blue Pacific. 
Mrs. Robinson. 
My dear friend: — 

I now take the pleasure of writing to you, as I 
promised in my short note from San Francisco. We 
are sailing away on the old Pacific and expect to ar- 
rive in Honolulu at 8.30 to-morrow, and we will leave 
the same day for Samoa. So you are quite alone now. 



You must feel lonely. I wish I were there to keep you 
company. We would have a good time. Don't you 
think you had better employ me as caretaker of the 
house — then I could look after you and you after me? 
So you are thinking of coming to see me next winter 
if we are in Frisco. I hope we are. Won't I be glad to 
see you? It seems an age since I bade you good bye 
on the Sydney wharf. I have not seen any of the C.'s 
lately. The eldest girl is married about three months 

back to young Mr. T , I guess you saw him at 

the house once or twice. He is a fine young fellow, 
and I think they will make a happy couple. Yes, it 

did serve L right the way he got treated. As you 

say, he has given a lot of girls the go by, and he has 
got it himself now. The ''Arawa" was sold to the Span- 
ish government to run to Cuba. But she is lost now 
about five months back. So you think I could not 
settle ashore. Now, well, that is a great mistake. I 

only wish I had the chance. Mrs. A was down this 

trip and she looks very well, very charming. I tried to 
get a photo of the Cemetery Bridge, but could not get 
it. I will try again this time. Will you ever forget 
that day? The Bridge and the Domain! Oh, Lord! 
I would live it all over again— but I am afraid I never 
will. We will be back in Frisco on the loth of July, 
and I will expect a letter from you on arrival. 

I hope your horses are better now. You seem to 
think a great deal of them. I suppose you look upon 
them as companions. Well, now, my dear friend, I 
must close. With love and best wishes from 

Your sincere friend, 

Leonard. 



1 89 

San Francisco. 



Mrs. Robinson. 
Mv dear friend: — 



We have ai^ain arrived back in dear old America, 
and no letter waitinc^ for nie from you. You surely have 
not forgotten me. No, I guess not. You are enjoying 
}-ourself and forgot to write. Well, I have got a pic- 
ture of the Cemetery Bridge, which I will send along 
with this, and I guess it will bring lots of pleasant 
recollections back to you. It does to me. I do not 
think I will ever forget that day. I wonder will it ever 
come again. I do sincerely hope so. They were red- 
letter days in my life— the few days you and I were to- 
gether. Suppose this will find you at some summer 
resort enjoying yourself to your heart's content. Well, 
I hope you are enjoying yourself. I guess it is pretty 
hot back East. We are having lovely weather in Cali- 
fornia. Gosh, don't I wish you were living here instead 
of New York; then I would be happy. I wonder will 
T ever see you again. I have met many women since 
I met you. but none that I cared for as well as you. I 

saw Mr. and :Mrs. S in Auckland; they wish to be 

kindly remembered to you. I have not seen any of the 

C 's for some time, but I hear they are quite well. 

I- ^las gone to England in one of the home boats. 

I do not know what he intends doing, nor do I care, 
and I guess you don't either. Everything is pretty 
much the same here. Business is pretty dull in Cali- 
fornia, owing to the election, so there is not nuich 
chance of getting anything to do just yet. I must hang 
on where I am. 



190 

Well, my dear friend, I guess I must close, trust- 
ing this will find you quite well. So, with best love 
and wishes, believe me. 

Ever yours sincerely, 

Leonard. 
Hoping to hear from you very soon. 



Feb. 17th. 
3klrs. Robinson. 

}^Iy very dear friend: — 

I send you this short note hoping that it may find 
vou quite well. I would have liked very much to hear 
from you before you left for home, but I suppose you 
did not know where to write; so, will excuse you. I, 
by chance, discovered your address the other day, and 
I came very near going to see you off. I wished I had 
been going with you; but I thought, perhaps, you would 
not like it, so I changed my mind. I expect you will 
sail by the "Mariposa." I have written to you at home. 
You will see by that letter how I have suft'ered for you. 
^ly heart is broken. Please, write me a kind letter 
when you get the time. I am walking in to post my 
letter, and I will write every month to you and will 
walk in in hopes of getting one from you. I will come 
to the States to see you if you wish it. I have been 
very bad about you — how much I love you, you will 
never know. ]\Iy dear, kind friend and well wisher, 
how can I thank you sufficiently for sending me that 
beautiful present? If you had asked me what I would 
like I could not have told you, but you sent me the 
very thing in that beautiful flute. I never saw one like 
it. I thank you again. God bless you and take care 



191 

of you till we meet again. But if you get married 
I wish you good luck, whoever he may be. I wish 
It wa^ me. But I would not care so much for myself 
if only you were happy and that I could see vou some- 
times. 

You tell me on your card to remember and think 
of you sometimes, \\-hy, you are never out of my 
thoughts— morning, noon and night I am looking into 
}Our pretty eyes. I love you with an undving love. 
I am leaving this camp to get away from drink, and 
when I get strong again no power will ever make me 
drink again. 

Yours in love until death, 

Basil. 

Kamo, Feb. 5th. 
PREFACE. 

^ly very dear friend: — 

That you will receive this letter in the best of 
health is my prayer night and morning. I am not 
quite as well as I should be; but I am recovering slowly 
but surely, I hope. I lost seven pounds in weight since 
Christmas. How it happened I will leave you to guess. 
To commence—how can I ever thank you for the hap- 
piest Christmas and jolliest Xew Year I ever passed 
in my life? I cannot do it; the gratitude of my heart 
is too great to put into words. They are so tame. 



Mrs. Robinson. 
My dear lady: — 

Do you remember how we went down to the 
river? How you did flirt with me! I was half in love 



192 

with you then, and when we went down to the race 
course in the evening I began to admire your beautiful 
eyes and I thought them very dangerous, and I asked 
you if you took dehght in breaking men's hearts, and 
you answered so truly, with tears in your voice, *'no, 
no." I did believe you and thought I was quite safe 
with you. But, oh, how much I was mistaken, my dear! 
My heart had left me, but I did not know it then. I 
think Cupid shot his dart into my heart when we were 
introduced, but gone it was into thy keeping and gone 
forever. 

You are the only lady that I have seen for twenty 
years whom I could admire and adore. My dear love! 
Well, we had a jolly time while it lasted — but I was not 
prepared for such a good time. After you left us 
every one seemed dull. I will tell you what a time I 
had. Now I am just going to ask you how I could help 
loving you. One day I asked Miss Jones where you 
were, and she told me in your room, and told me 
to go there and see. I went and found you sleep- 
ing. Then I vanished to dream about you — to 
think of you. After a while I came back to talk to 
you, more in love than ever; but I did not even then 
know how much I loved you. I often think of the 
day Clara and yourself came to where I was to see 
what I was doing, and I was quietly sitting on the door 
step, and you gave me such a pleasant smile that T 
never will forget. It did my heart good. God bless 
you! One more time, when you were coming out of 
the store, you gave me that pleasant smile and a gift. 
I can never forget it while my memory lasts. Do you 
think I can forget the old tree, where Mrs. F., Miss 



193 

J., you and I sat, and where we passed such pleasant 
moments? No, never shall I forget them — they are the 
only pleasant thoughts I have at present. Sometimes 
I take out my keepsakes and look at them to cheer 
my heart. I will tell you what they are, but you must 
not tell any one. A picture of a lady, a small handker- 
chief with a letter in one corner, two little flowers and 
a small black-headed pin and, last but not least, a cap 
that just fits my head — and it just fits you, too. You 
have a good-sized head for a lady, and I know there is 
plenty of good in it. 

Well, the morning that you left me at the store 
I did intend going up the road with you, but you bade 
me good bye in those beautiful words that froze my 
heart and I felt powerless to move. And when you 
started I saw a tear in your eye and I felt so badly, 
and again, when you waved your hand, I started ofT 
to the cottage and for hours I cried for you. I would 
have followed you, but I thought it best not, for it would 
have looked so bad just then. Well, I had a drink 
after a time and went home to Mac, and we talked of 
you all the evening. Now came the time I found out 
how dear you were to me and how much I loved you. 
I went to the store the next morning, and on my way 
back I sat down on the small tree by the small river, 
where we had all four sat one Saturday afternoon. I 
was thinking about you, when all at once a voice seemed 
to shout in my ear: "She is gone, for ever — for ever — 
for ever" — when I fell ofT the tree on to the ground un- 
conscious. It was then about 10.30 A.M. when that 
happened. How long I lay there I do not know, but 
Miss Jones came along on horse back and she asked 



194 

me whg,t was the matter. I sung out to her I had lost 
my best friend, and the way I said it frightened her 
horse and away she went. Still the voice kept repeat- 
ing, "For ever — for ever" in my ear. How long I lay 
there I do not know. It rained and I got home wet 
through. It was night when I got there, and I never 
lifted my head from my pillow for three days, and I 
never slept for nine nights and days, thinking all 
the time about you. I thought to kill myself, but 
thought it might give you pain. So I resolved to try 
and see you once again. 

I cannot eat, it seems to choke me. I cannot sleep 
for thinking about you. I cannot work, for I seem to 
be looking into your eyes all the time, and I carry a 
heart in my breast like lead. Sometimes I cheer up 
for a few moments, and then all seems to fall back again. 
You must see me again, if only for five minutes, if 
you care the least for your own Basil — and you will find 
very few like me. I will give up drinking forever. Ask 
me to come and see you, when you are at home, if 
only for a day. I will write again and let you know 
what I intend doing. I will try to get to England by 
the end of May, then I can be home in July and I can 
soon run across to you. 

I thank you again for the flute — it is the best 
present I ever received in my life. You could not have 
thought of a better thing — when I thought you had for- 
gotten me, then to get just what I wished so many 
times for. I do not know how to return such a gift. 

I fear you will marry — but if you do before I see 
you again I hope you will be happy. I would like to 
be the happy man. But let me come to wher^ I can 



195 

see you sometimes, for I am broken-hearted. You will 
think this a selfish letter. I hope you enjoyed your trip 
to Sydney and other places. I will talk more about it 
in my next. Please write soon and let me know how 
you are. 

With my best love to you, 

Your 

Basil. 



Pinau, April loth. 
My dear Alice: — 

I received your kind and welcome letter four days 
ago and w^as very pleased to hear you were quite well 
and enjoying yourself, and that you enjoyed your trip 
to Melbourne (how I should have liked to be with 
you!) and hope you w^ill arrive safely at home. I 
suppose you will be glad when you get there to take 
a rest after all your wanderings. I am glad you got 
my Auckland letter, for your reply to it cheered me 
very much. I am better in health and I hope you are 
well, too. You say I must not fret about you. Well, 
I do not fret quite so much now, but I think of you all 
the time. You say, let the past be a fond memory! 
Dear Alice, it could be nothing else, it could not be 
otherwise, and it is the fondest and brightest I have 
to think of you, and I shall always love you so long 
as I live. 

Thy voice is near me in my dreams. 

In accents sweet and low, 
Telling of happiness and love 

In days long, long ago; 



196 

Word after word methinks I hear, 

But strange it seems to me 
That though I listen to thy voice, 

Thy face I never see. 

From night to night my weary heart 

Dwells on the treasured past, 
And every day it seems to say 

You come to me at last; 
I kneel — I work — I watch and pray 

As time runs slowly on, 
But yet I only have but thee, 

The best, the dearest one. 

You will excuse me writing my little song, but that 
is the one I sing mostly now. My voice is in grand 
tune just now, and I have two engagements for May — 
one is the opening of a large hall and the other is in 
support of a free library at Aponga. If it had not been 
for your present I could not have sung half as well as 
I do. You would like to have my likeness? I will send 
it as soon as I can get it taken. If I can get it taken 
in time will send it with this letter, but I would rather 
send it in my next. I will then tell you why I was so 
pleased that you asked me for my likeness. There was 
to have been another or more races here, but there were 
no horses entered — at least not enough — only five in 
all, and so they declared the races off. How different 
from the last time. 

I have not been over since I wrote you the last 
time, but intend, before I leave forever, to have a look 
at the old place. 

Dave brought me your letter out from Kamo four 



197 

(lays before I intended going in to see whether you had 
written me. I told him you sent your re.q:ards to him, 
and he asked me to remember him to you. I said I 
would do so if I wrote, because I have no faith in any 
one. Mac is in the old camp, and quite well at^-ain. You 
told Patsy to look after me when you left, and he did 
so right royally, too. He is a good sort. I will stay 
here until next i\Iarch. Then I shall go to England, 
and, perhaps, I may have a last chance of seeing you. 
Now, I do not want you to be alarmed at anything 
I say, for I would not do a tiling without your consent 
and all I ask for my great love for you is that you will 
remember me sometimes and write me a letter letting 
me know how you are getting along. I could write for 
a week about ourselves, but you would think it all non- 
sense. But, if ever you are in need of a friend, send 
me a line and I will go through anything to get to 
you. I remain yours until death. 

You say you are growing stouter every day. \Vell, 
that's all right; never mind stopping yet. My sister is 
a fine looking woman, about as tall as yourself, and 
weighs two hundred and six pounds. Laugh and grow 
fat, is an old saying. 

So. I conclude, you must have been enjoying 
yourself very much down here. I am glad you en- 
joyed my poor company. 

If you go to Europe next year I should like to 
know, for I might meet you there if you do not get 
married in the meantime. There will be plenty of fine 
fellows in the States wanting to marry you, and why 
not? You are young yet. I just wish I could have had 



198 

the courage to have asked you. I will have to stop. I 
could go on writing for ever to you. 

I remain yours until death. Bless you! 

Basil. 

Ever of thee fondly I am dreaming. I have just 
been looking at your likeness — I will get a frame 
for it. B. 



Kamo, Sept. 
My dear Alice: — 

I send you this short note to let you know that I 
am quite well, hoping you are the same. 

I am writing a letter to you, but I want to send 
my likeness with it. I went to the photographer three 
weeks ago and he promised to let me have them in three 
days, and I have been or sent twice a week, and I have 
not got them yet. I expect them to-morrow, but I 
must let you know why you did not get your letter 
sooner. I will not say much now. Hope you will 
forgive me for what I cannot help. 

With many thanks for your kind and loving letter, 

I remain, 

Your own till death, 

Basil. 

P.S. — I will send my letter next week whether I 
get my photos or not. I would have gone to town if 
I had thought the fellow would have been so long over 
them. B. 



Kamo, Sept. 
My dear Alice: — 

I received your welcome letter and was glad to 
hear you were quite well as this leaves me at present. 



199 

I went into Whangarei to have my likeness taken as 
soon as I got your letter, and he promised to have 
ihem done in a week's time. I called for them, but 
they were not done, and he put me off another week. 
I wanted them very much as I thought you might 
change your address before you got one. I felt sorry 
you could not let your estate, but do not let it trouble 
you overmuch, because they are making it more val- 
uable by making good roads, and it will all come right 
in a little while. I would like to be with you this 
month to have a walk among the trees and view the 
beautiful bay. I have seen it many times and would 
like to see it again. You will have a fine time this 
month — the great boat race coming off. How I would 
like to be there! I wonder what sort of a Christmas 
you will have this year? It will be very cold where you 
are at present, nothing like last year, I believe, but you 
will have New York to fall back upon. I do not think 
I will ever have another Christmas like it as long as I 
live. I was very happy on that day. I had to leave 
the place where the old tree lay, for it used to make 
my heart sore whenever I saw it, thinking of the happy 
moments that \we had passed there together. I wonder 
who you have got to tie your shoe strings now? There 
are plenty would like to do it. I have moved camp to 
six miles off Kamo, and I could have a very good 
time. I am right among the settlers and they make a 
great deal of me. They have parties and dances — sing- 
ing all the time and flirting in galore. I could be mar- 
ried a dozen times over if I wanted to, but only think 
of you all the more. I have had some very broad hints 
from the girls themselves, but they cannot make me 



200 

out. They have a splendid hall here, where I sang 
once, and I thought they would bring the house down 
when I sang for them. I sang the "Anchor's weighed" 
and "Afton Water" with two encores, and I got a 
great name. I will send you one of the encores. I was 
singing it to you, although I was looking at them. 

LATER. 
I have got your likenesses. I am glad, so that I can 
send you one with this letter. I sent you a short note 
for fear you might think I was neglecting you, but I 
hope you will never think that. You say you are get- 
ting thin; why, that is only good health after your 
sea voyage. You must leave all worry alone and be 
cheerful, and you will soon look well again, and if you 
get your likeness taken you must be sure to send your 
little chippy one. It will please him more than anything 
you could send him. My pictures are very common 
things. I do not like them, but what can you expect 
from Whangarei? I will go into town at Christmas and 
have some good ones taken and send you one. 

THIS IS ONE OF MY ENCORE SONGS. 

In the gloaming, oh my darling, 

When our lives are fading fast 
Time will sooth the aching anguish, 

Each sad memory of the past; 
May your life be bright and happy. 

Golden as the sunbeam's ray. 
We may, dear, yes, meet together 

In that land far, far away. 

I will send you another encore song in my next — 
It is a very pretty one. I have just heard that the 
"Defender" won the race and claims the second on a 



201 

foul. I saw J the other day. He does not look 

over well; business is very dull with him. 

You must send me a line before Christmas. I shall 
very likely go to Melbourne, but if I do I will let you 
know. Mind you take care of yourself this winter, and 
if ever I can do anything for your happiness, com- 
mand me. 

I remain yours till death, 

Basil. 



Kamo. 
My dear Alice: — 

No doubt you will think it strange that I did not 
write before now; but, as you know of old how great 
my friendship is for you, I know you will forgive me. 
I did not want to send you any bad news. 

I heard that Mr. and Mrs. J were very sick 

and not expected to live, that is some time ago, but they 

are quite well again. (A was down to a ball here. 

I was to play and sing there, but I had another engage- 
ment, so I sent my friend to fill my place — he plays the 
violin). She was attended by her French governess. 
She looks well and behaves nicely. Old Charlie is in 
the store — he who married us in the kitchen — you re- 
member? 

I would like to see you now, dressed for the 
opera — but you will always look well to me, no matter 
what dress you are in. I would like to live in New 
York just so I could see you now and again; it would 
be nice. I am glad you liked your trip down here — it 
is something to think about. That niece of mine, whose 
photos I sent you, has gone to sing in London, and 



202 

I believe she will be a success. You might have kept 
all the photos if you liked. I will not send you any of 
these. I will send you some fresh ones by and bye. 
My brother and sister wish me to go home to England 
very much. I have got some money now, and I think I 
will take a trip up to the Thames gold fields, and then 
I will have a look at Melbourne. Should I not stay 
at either places I will go home (via Frisco). I am leav- 
ing here next week. I thank you for the picture of 
the two cats you sent me, and I also thank you very 
much for the songs that you propose sending me; but 
I shall have no address for some time now, and I think 
you have done plenty when you sent me that flute. I 
play it every day and think of you. 

The people here are very sorry I am leaving. I 
am at parties every week and thank you in the flute. 
I will send you a photo from Auckland. All the 

people that you knew at J have left and gone I do 

not know where. 

Your 



Basil. 



When other lips and other hearts 
Their tales of love shall tell, 

In language whose excess imparts 
The power they feel so well, 

There may perhaps in such a scene 
Some recollections be 

Of days that have as happy been 
And you'll remember me, 
And you'll remember me. 

Ever thine, 



Basil. 



^63 

St. Louis, Mo. 
Mrs. A. Robinson. 

My dear Madam: — 

Found yoirr card at the Bank yesterday — my first 
appearance down town for some days. Was anxious 
to see who could have called upon me at the bank and 
for some time did not recognize the name. If it had 
read "Hutton," would at once have known who it was. 

Our friend C is married to a young lady with 

some $100,000 in her own right and appears to be happy 
and as usual contented. Should you at any time visit 
St. Louis in the future, kindly let me hear from you 
in advance and I would be most happy to try and make 
your visit pleasant. I am very sorry that it was im- 
possible to see you during your short visit. I am, 

Sincerely vours, 

L. L. 



St. Louis, Mo. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Your kind letter of April 12th came duly to hand 
and read with pleasure. Should judge you are getting 
to be like myself — a traveller; but after a while it be- 
comes quite tiresome. Sorry, indeed, your desire to 
see me did not enter your head before you reached St. 
Louis, as I am sure your short visit here would have 

been made more pleasant. Yes, C was lucky, but 

some people always fall into good things. From your 

charming picture of C am convinced you had 

quite a preference for him while you were here; but we 
often, all of us, had a good time and think of the past 
at times and wish it was possible to be younger by a 



^64 

few years. The hotel is the same, but all new people, 
some pleasant and some otherwise. But, you know, 
we can always make ourselves at home in any place. 

Sorry you find it so lonely — wish I was there for 
a few days. At times I feel lonesome, but it only lasts 
for a few hours. 

Sincerely hope your cold is much improved if not 
entirely well. 

Thanks, I am all right. It was something curious 
to me ; but, you know, we all are born curious but hope 
I won't be troubled that way any more. 

Hoping your spare time is passing more pleasant- 
ly, and that you are happy in all things, I am, as ever, 

Your friend, 

L. L. 



Liverpool, August 6th. 
My darling Alice: — 

Words fail me to express my feelings towards you, 
my girl, for it was lovely to see you this A.M. and get 
a farewell kiss, to say nothing of the splendid letter, 
which I found at the hotel. 

We left at 8 o'clock and are now waiting for the 
crowd to come ofif, and then we shall get away. You 
need not be the least anxious about me this trip, for 
the thoughts of my last passage are still uppermost in 
my mind and I am not quite such a scamp as you may 
think. Your combs will arrive, I hope, as soon as this 
letter, but the straps I can bring you on my return. 
This is only intended for a note to let you know that I 
am going to keep my promise and send you a letter at 



205 

the last minute, before we sail, when I shall be able to 
have a little more leisure time. 

Cheer up, dear, and enjoy yourself all you can, 
and believe me, 

Yours sincerely. 

Bob. 



Liverpool, August 6th, 
II o'clock. 
My darling- Alice: — 

You will see by the above time we are now soon 
to sail, and your humble servant is sitting in his cabin 
to do his writing. Already my troubles have com- 
menced as the people are all more or less dissatisfied, 
and some of them seem to think I arrange their seats 
in the saloon. Mr. P has just been up with his let- 
ters and showed me the lovely present you sent him. 
I need hardly say he is delighted, but I console myself 
that this boy is the best ofT. Your letter in itself is 
enough to make any fellow happy let alone your ex- 
treme kindness to me, which I shall never forget. Be 
sure you write me, girl, and send the letter to Pier ■ — . 
There does not seem to be any of the A. R. st>nc 
among the crowd, and doubt very much if I shall ever 
meet another like you, girl, for, somehow, you were too 
good for an old salt. But, however, we will not dwell 
on the subject, for, as I said in my note of to-day, words 
fail to express my feelings. So, must leave you to 
imagine all the nice things you can do for yourself. 

Enclosed is a list of the crowd. You may look out 



2o6 

for a wire directly I reach Liverpool, and remember 
I will be in London the following day. So long! 

Yours sincerely, 

Bob. 

November 20th. 
My dear Alice: — 

Your letter came as a surprise to me, and I don't 
think you need have been so hasty to return, as nobody 
could say a word about your being down here. But, 
however, I shall hope to see you the day we get in, 
next voyage, when none will be any the wiser. I have 
not enjoyed myself a bit here this time, but then there is 
not any more of the A. R. type. I hope you will have 

a jolly time on the P , and you must tell me all about 

the trip on my return. We had a fairly decent run 
out, but lots of bad weather and bad luck at Polish 

Bank, which T had a share of. Thanks for the 

time tables. No doubt, I shall be able to find my way 
out to the mansion, where I hope to be the star boarder. 
I have got some one to address this letter to you, as 
my handwriting is so well known on your ship. It 
would be useless for me to attempt to convey my feel- 
ings towards you after all your kindness to me, for 
certain it is, old lady, I have never met anybody to 
equal you, my girl, and I sincerely hope some day to be 
able to repay you for all you have done for me. 

I shall hope to see your boat at sea, as we do some- 
times see her. 

Accept my love and believe me. 

Yours devotedly. 

Bob. 



207 

Liverpool, Jan. 14th. 

My darling Alice: — 

Your loving letter was duly handed me on my ar- 
rival yesterday, and I cannot begin to express how 
much I feel indebted to you for such unbounded kind- 
ness to me. Of course, I am very sorry that you will not 
be with us on the passage out, but perhaps, as you say 
it may be for the best. And another thing — the ship is 
full, so that there would not have been much chance 
of us seeing much of each other, at any rate not half as 
much as this boy would like. I am anxious to learn 

how you fared on the P , and who fell in love with 

you; but this you can tell me when I see you, my love. 
Your description of the men at No. is very amus- 
ing, and I cannot imagine a fellow making such a fool 
of himself without any encouragement. But then, you 
girls delight to tease us, I know\ I have carefully 

preserved my time tables for and will wire you the 

moment I get anchored, so that you will know when 
to expect me. Just don't I wish you were near enough 
to collect a good hug and kiss. 

Please excuse this letter being short, as I have to 

pay the crew ofif. F is going to write you. Cheer 

up, old lady, and get the place good and warm by the 
20th, as I am in hopes you will have a boarder that 
day. 

With fondest love and unlimited kisses, believe 
me, 

Ever yours, 

Bob. 



208 

Sandy Hook. 
My darling Alice: — 

How can I begin to express myself after all your 
kindness to me? It really is too good, my love, the way 
which you have treated this old sailor. I only wish it 
were possible for me to repay you, old pet; but at 
present I can only hope for the future and trust some 
day fortune may smile on me again. After running 
like a two-year old I caught my train and went to sleep 
till we reached Jersey City. But, oh my, it was very 
difficult to get out of bed this morning; even now I 
shall be glad to get rid of the pilot, so as to get into 
my nest. 

Mr. P desires me to convey his kindest re- 
gards to you and hopes to be able to come over and 
see you next time. Please, write me a letter to Liver- 
pool, my love, for I am already longing to see you, 
my queen, and I have made up my mind to fix my 

days better on the next trip, for has done too much 

traveling in the few days he has been here. It is be- 
yond me to express how happy I feel always with 
you, and can safely say, darling, that you are never 
out of my thoughts, and . whatever happens, darling, 
you may always remember your boy retains the warm- 
est feelings of affection for his little woman with the 

mansion at . It may not surprise you to hear that I 

am feeling very tired and that it will take me all this 
passage to rest and get myself once more. The cigar- 
rettes will be duly conveyed on my next trip, also the 
cigars, as they slipped my memory before we left the 

docks. L has just been here and he seems very 

upset about his stay in New York. He asked me how 



209 

yon were, but T told liini I bad only seen you once, 
and n])on my sbowini^^ bini my lovely silk scarf be 
wanted to know wbere it came from, so I said a girl in 
Ib'ooklyn sent it to me and tbereupon tbe gentleman 
said, "You ougbt to go and see tbat girl, sir!'' 

Tbis letter will not reacb you till Tuesday, my 
sweetbeart, but you will bave time to write me by 
Wednesday's mail. So don't forget, as I sball be 
hungry for your letter. 

So long, dearest; try and tbink kindly of tbis boy 
and accept beaps of love and a ten-minutes' kiss. 
Believe me, darling. 

Your loving sweetbeart, 

Bob. 



Milton, Dec. I4tb. 
Dear Airs. Robinson: — 

I was so glad to get a letter from you tbe otber 
day and tbe pboto, wbicb was a splendid one. I will 
send you mine wben I bave tbem finisbed, tbough I 
don't like tbem mucb. I am so sorry to bear tbat you 
are not enjoying yourself tbougb. It must be very far 
away and lonely. I don't tbink, bowever, tbat you can 
be more miserable and wretcbed tban I am. My God! 
I tbink sometimes I sball go mad. Sbut up all day in 
an office, cut ofif from tbe glorious sunsbine, tbe trees 
and tbe flowers, wbicb are my very beart's blood, I 
can only see it glimmer tbrougb tbe windows and bear 
tbe birds singing outside, and I pine and pine so for 
freedom. Ob, you don't know wbat I suffer. Tbis 
morning, wben a stockman rode past gaily on bis 
horse, swinging bis whip, a lump rose in my throat till 



210 

I thought I would choke and, old as I am, I had hard 
work to keep from bursting into tears. I would sell 
m.v coat for one moment of true, glorious sunshine of 
the Islands and a horse to ride again, and what's more, 
Tm going to obtain them. I have written to a fellow in 
the Islands to ask him to get me a job, and if I get a 
favorable reply off I'll go. Perhaps I'll be going over 
by the "Mariposa," though most likely by the next 
steamer, as I won't have received a reply before then 
and I havn't got enough money to play about Honolulu. 
In fact, I don't know how I'm going to get over. But, 
perhaps, I can scrape up enough money for a steerage 
passage, and if not I must try and work my way over. 
I really believe, so great is my longing to get away, 
that if I was playing poker with you again I wouldn't 
feel any compunction in getting twenty or thirty pounds 
from you. So you see how I've fallen. 

I envy you so being able and free to get away from 
the place you don't like. Anyway, if it is slow, you 
are in the open air and can do what you like. I do hope 
I'll see you again before you go over; though I don't 
think I'll be able to play you a game as I'm saving 
every shilling. Wouldn't it be jolly if we could go 
over together? But then you would be an '"igh" and 
'"aughty" saloon passenger, while I'd be an '"umble" 
steerage one. Anyway, if we do not see each other again, 
I hope you will write to me sometimes, and if you send 
me your address I'll write to you. If I ever manage to 
have a home in the Islands I hope you will come over 
and make it yours for however long you choose to stay, 
but I am afraid that is a very remote pleasure as I have 
no money to buy any land for many a long day if ever. 



211 

I wish I had some rich annt or somebody who would 
adopt me or die conveniently and leave me her money; 
then I would come over and see you and play you poker 
to your heart's content. But I have never had any luck 
in my life. Well, well, I won't give you any more of my 
croakings. I know you will think of me when you are 
having a jolly time of it on the ''Mariposa" and wish me 
luck, I am sure. I am just living on in hope now, and 
if I am disappointed — my God! I can't think of it — 
I have broken the bridge of my guitar, so my last con- 
solation is cut off and the thought of having to enter 
that ofifice to-morrow is aw^ful. 'T is a very pretty 
place and the fellows are nice, but it's a number of miles 
from Dunedin and we seldom get in. I was a week 
with my parents in Christ-church, and they welcomed 
me back like the prodigal son and I had a lovely time. 
I wonder when I shall see them again. 

I have nothing to tell you, though, by the way, 
I have seen Islr. Thomas. In fact, I saw Mr. and Mrs. 
Terry and that other young fellow that played poker 
with the doctor and mail agent yesterday; they w^ere 
all well. I did not have much chance of speaking to 
them. I hope you will write soon to me and send me 
your address. You forgot it last time, and so I had 
to make it out from the postage stamp. I hope sincerely 
that I will see you again and wish you lots and lots of 
happiness. And now, with "Aloha nui pau ole," I 
remain, 

Your affectionate friend, 

Nap. 



212 

Milton, Jan. 21st. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I am so glad to hear from you to-day. I was won- 
dering where you were and if my letter had ever reached 
you. I am so sorry to hear you are not coming here. 
I would like to see you so much again, as I don't sup- 
pose I will ever see you any more. Couldn't you man- 
age to change your mind and come on from Melbourne? 
I'm sure you would like it and you could catch your 
steamer here. I will not probably be going in her, as 
I have not got any reply yet to the letter I wrote to 
see whether I could get a billet in the island and I have 
not managed to save up the necessary money yet, nor 
ever will I expect, as I'm too extravagant and can never 
save. So, I suppose, I'll have to endure this for a bit 
till I can manage to get on to a station hereabouts. But 
I'll get back some day, you bet. I wish you had told me 
the name of your noble adorer; I am quite interested in 
him and admire his good taste. I hope he will be suc- 
cessful in getting his money, and when you are Lady 
Somebody you must promise to visit me. 

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the 
kind and generous ofifer you made me in case the happy 
event should come off. But I would not take advant- 
age of it, as I am sure ladies always want lots of money 
and haven't any to spare. But the offer is typical of 
your kind hearted self and I appreciate it deeply. It's not 
likely, unluckily, that a rich aunt will die and leave me 
any money for the simple reason that I haven't got 
such a thing, but I guess I'll scrape along all right 
somehow. We have had a couple of dances while I've 
been here, very jolly, and Fve often been into the 



213 

theatre, and, taking- it all round, we have lots of fun. 
But it does not make me like this place any the better. 
Nothing will satisfy me but the fresh air. 

If you see Mrs. Grey in Honolulu, give her my 
best love; tell her to be good and not to forget me. 
I hope you will write to me occasionally. I would be 
ever so pleased to hear from you at any time and will 
always look forward to seeing you again some time or 
other. 

Well, I must say good bye now, and I hope to hear 
from you soon. And now with "Aloha nui pau ole," I 
remain, 

Your affectionate friend, 

Nap. 



La Perouse. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I am very sorry to have fallen out with you, espe- 
cially as your stay here is so short, and finding pretty 
well the other night what kind of an opinion you had of 
me I did not like to go down to see you again. How- 
ever, this is to wish you a safe journey across to Mel- 
bourne and a pleasant passage home to New York. 

Hoping you have enjoyed a happy Christmas, I 
am 

Yours sincerely, 

Dave. 

La Perouse. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Thank you very much for your kind letter in reply 
to my note. Have also received your second note re- 
questing my name for vour birthdav book. If the 



214 

name on enclosed slip is too large, please let me know 
and I will send another smaller. On Thursday, the 
3rd inst, I landed in Sydney, ten minutes after you 
had left for Melbourne, with Mr. Dugan. I would very 
willingly have gone down there to see you, but thought 
you might not like it; so I stopped where I was. Am 
surprised you have not yet left for Melbourne, but I 
suppose you will be starting shortly, perhaps before 
this reaches you. My face is still aching like the very 
mischief so you may guess I am not in particularly 
good humor. I never had such a wretched miserable 
Christmas in my life. Nobody came near me and I 
was not asked out anywhere, which is the result, I con- 
clude, of being poor. Add to this that my tooth took 
fine care to keep up a perpetual pain the whole day, 
together with the misery of falling out with you, and 
you have a pretty fair photo of my Christmas 18 — . If 
you get this epistle before leaving for Melbourne, 
please drop me a line to say which boat you are going 
by and I will be looking out for her arrival at the other 
side. 

In the mean time I hope you will enjoy yourself 
down there and better again in Auckland. 

Well, good bye, Mrs. Robinson. Trust you are 
quite well. I am^ 

Yours sincerely, 

Dave. 



La Perouse. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I received your kind letter with the photo and 
thank you very much for them both. It will be nice 
to look at your pretty face occasionally, when you are 



215 

far away in America. Am not at all well to-day, al- 
though my toothache is a good deal better; so I will 
only send just a short note to say that I hope you have 
enjoyed your trip to Napier and Gisborne and to wish 
you a safe journey to New York. 

I saw your old friend Basil the other day and he 
told me he intended going to see you off. I will send 
my love to you by him, but I expect he will make a 
mistake and give you his own instead. 

There is nothing in the way of news here that 
would interest you, and as I really feel too ill to write 
any more to-night, I n>ust conclude. 

I wish you a safe passage home and every pos- 
sible happiness. Any chance of getting a letter after 
you are settled in New York? 
I am, 

Yours sincerely, 

Dave. 



La Perouse. 
My dear ]Mrs. Robinson: — 

You may depend I was both pleased and surprised 
to get your kind letter of the 9th of August. I often 
wondered whether you would write to me from Amer- 
ica. Of course, Basil told me every time he heard from 
you. In fact, I knew before he did, as I generally got 
his letters for him or else received them when they ar- 
rived here. I have not been well lately and am terribly 
shaky to-night, so please do not expect anything better 
than a disconnected scrawl. 

As far as news is concerned there Is very little to 
tell you. I have only been to M. once, I think, since 



2l6 

yott were there. Miss J. and Mrs. F. have g'one, and 
there is a new governess recently arrived from Paris, 
although she is English. M. has also left these camps 
and is now living at Ruataugata, a place you pass 
through about six miles this side of Kamo on your 
way to Mangakahi. I have left Aponga, where you and 
the others came on a visit that day. I rarely ever see 
Mrs. T. now, as I do not stay at that hotel, but will 
deliver your message when I do see her. I notice that 
you send your love to her; you didn't send me any. 
I suppose I am outside the pale of your affections 
altogether. Do you know that although we fell out I 
can't help liking you? It's a case of "With all your 
faults I love you still," and I was very sorry that I 
missed seeing you once again. Do you remember Mrs. 

G ? Well, she and her husband have parted. He 

is still here. She is in Auckland, keeping a little shop 
and doing dress making, etc. That cowboy gentleman 
called Willie something or other has gone gum digging. 
I am sorry you lost your beautiful dog, as I suppose he 
was a great favorite. Tell me, if you ever write again, 
how the rug turned out. 

Now, I am too ill to-night to write a pleasant let- 
ter or even a readable one, but if I ever receive another 
one from you I may then, perhaps, be better able to 
answer it. 

In the meantime trusting you are quite well and 
wishing you every happiness, I am, dear Mrs. Robin- 
son, 

Yours sincerely, 

Dave. 



217 

La Perouse, January. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I received your kind letter of December 3rd all 
right. How very good of you to write to me again 
and such a nice letter, too. You write in such a natural 
way that it is almost like speaking to you or rather like 
having you speak. What a pity we could not get close 
enough for that — isn't it? 

You were quite right in saying our summer would 
be well on by the time your note got here. It is fear- 
fully hot now and the driest season we have had for 
years. I am sorry to hear that they did not fix up 
Leo's skin entirely to your satisfaction, but still it must 
be nice as it is. 

What about that ''little bit of a dog" you have — 
isn't he a whole one? You ask if my toothache is right 
again. It is better, thank you, but in other ways I am 
not very well and think I ought to have a change. 

If I ever get enough money together I would like 
to go over to America — just to see New York and Mrs. 
Robinson. I lived in San Francisco for about two 
years a long time ago, but never had a chance of going 
East, and at the rate I am traveling now, never will. 
That's the worst of being poor. What a lot we miss by 
it! Ever since your letter came I have been praying 
for that artist who spoiled your photos, as I was so 
very disappointed at not getting one. You never sent 
me a kiss either. Will you next time? And be sure to 
enclose some little thing or other for keepsake — 
a piece of your hair will do nicely. If I can't get another 
photo, of course, I keep the one you sent me from 
Auckland put away safely. 



2l8 

By the way, I have seen two or three different 
photos of you, but none as nice as you are yourself. 
If I ever get any news that would interest you I will 
write again, and in the meantime I will be looking for- 
ward for another letter from America. 

Well, good bye, Mrs. Robinson. Trusting you 
are quite well and will soon write again, I am, 



Yours sincerely, 



Dave. 



Chere A.: — 

I have waited to see you — but, alas! vainly, for 
I have just learned the painful intelligence that you 
have gone ashore with your friends (whom Heaven 
confound), and you did not leave a message for me. 

I enclose you this atrocity which I committed last 
night and which you said you admired. If, however, it 
has the efifect of affording you a laugh now and then it 
will serve the purpose for which it was written, namely 
• — of keeping in your remembrance in however slight a 

degree. 

Your very sincere friend 

Will. 
January 25th. 



Monowai, Jan, 24th, 18 — . 
A DAY DREAM. 

Fresh comes the breeze above 

King cup and daisy, 
The woodlands are rich with the hyacinth blue, 
Dreaming a dream of love, 

Lying so lazy, 
Dreaming a dream that can never come true. 



o 



9 



Can buried blisses rise? 

Past time return again? 
Nay, save in memory, the past is no more; 
Yet, as I shut my eyes, 

I can forget my pain, 
My heart is linked in thine close as of yore. 

Draw my face near to thine, 

Yea! and those lips, so sweet. 
Set me a-trembling like reeds by the stream, 
Sweeter than Jessamine, 

That the south wind doth greet, 
Kiss me again, love, 'tis only a dream. 

Good bve to Alice. 



Auckland, New Zealand. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I received your letter on the 4th, and was very 
pleased to get it. It was very good of you to remember 
me and to write, especially as you had your favorites 
to entertain; 

I am pleased you liked my sister. Brothers should 
not have favorite sisters but, perhaps, I have a special 

conceit about Lillie. How did you like Mrs. B ? 

You can tell me on your return. 

I saw by the pap«rs that you had a rough passage 
to the other side from the Blufif, but I suppose you felt 
no bad effects from it. How are you now? I hope well. 
Have you gained another stone in weight since you 
said good bye on the ''Monowai"? 

I will be glad to see you back again even though it 
will be only for a short time. I have had your picture 



220 

framed and It looks very nice. That is the next best 
thing to having yourself to admire. 

Are you coming back on the "Monowai"? I must 
try to find out when she is expected here, for I should 
like to meet you — that is if you have no one better, and 
if you will allow me. 

I see by the end of your letter that I have not yet 
convinced you that I have no girl. Perhaps I shall be 
able, too, when you come back. At any rate I have had 
no nice walks since you have been away. 

Now, my dear Mrs. Robinson, I must stop right 
here — not because I have no news, but because it is 
nearly twelve o'clock. 

So, with kind regards and hoping you are having 
a pleasant time I will say good bye and believe me. 

Your sincere friend, 

Harold. 



Auckland, New Zealand. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson:^ 

I am very sorry for what has happened. It is not 
my fault I can assure you. I have no enemies, Mrs. 
Robinson, and I have no wish to be bad friends with you 
now, on the eve of your departure for your home in 
America. We have been very good friends so far. I 
feel very sorry indeed that my sister did not refrain from 
writing me when you asked her. All this might 
have then been avoided. Now, Mrs. Robinson, will 
you see me? If it is only to say good-bye and part good 
friends, for it is possible that we may never meet here 
again, but I trust and pray that we may meet in that 
everlasting Kingdom that our Heavenly Father, God, 



221 

has prepared for all who love Him in sincerity and 
truth. If you will see me, will you kindly send word 
by this young- man? I shall be free from one until two 
to-morrow (Friday) for lunch, or to-morrow evenin^^. 
I remain still, your sincere friend, 

Harold. 



Auckland, New Zealand, Nov. 
Dear I\Irs. Robinson: — 

I daresay you have ere this given up the idea of 
ever hearing from me again, though it is just twelve 
months since you left in the S.S. ''Mariposa." You have 
not been altogether out of mind, though you have been 
out of sight. I have often wondered how you have been 
getting along since. You remember you were to let 
me know of your safe arrival when you got to either 
Honolulu or New York; but as I did not receive a 
letter from you all this time (and I really did expect 
one) I thought, perhaps, you would not be very angry 
if I wrote you just a short one to let you know that I 
am still alive and have a desire to be retained on your 
list as a friend. Of course, Mrs. Robinson, our friend- 
ship was somewhat marred towards the close of your 
stay here, but I tliink you thoroughly understood that 
1 was not to blame. Now, dear Mrs. Robinson, I wish 
you could forget all that passed then. Just try to let us 
think of each other as though those things had never 
been. That is the way I want to think of it. Don't 
you think that would be the best way too? Just let us be 
now what we were during the short time I had the 
pleasure of being in your company while in Auckland 
—'The best of friends." Shall it be so? 



222 



I often see the people who lived at the Caithness 
while you were there. I remember all walks and talks 
we had together during those few weeks. You may 
think that I am only saying this for the sake of filling 
up paper — but it is not so. I really do look back 
with pleasure to those evenings. I have been chaffed 
about you once or twice since you have been away. 
I suppose that is because you were to church with me. 
But I can stand to be chaffed about you. 

I was disappointed when the first mail arrived 
after you got home, when I got no letter and no photo. 
I have not forgotten my promise to you to send you 
mine. The one you had taken when here is still in 
Hanna's show studio. 

I would like to send you by next mail a small 
present, just to remind you of Maori Land and also as 
a seal to our friendship. I suppose you will get it about 
Christmas. 

And now, Mrs. Robinson, I shall have to ask your 
forgiveness for something I have done since you left. 
It is about that diamond scarf pin that you so kindly 
and generously gave me. I gave it away. But when 
I tell you the circumstances you will see why I did it. 
After what happened between you and my mother I 
could not wear it, because she was so angry with me 
that I went to see you at the hotel and also because I 
went to the steamer to see you off. Then, when they 
saw I was not wearing it (because I kept it for a long 
time hardly knowing what to do with) both my mother 
and sister asked me to give it to them; but after 
the way you were treated by my mother I did not see 
what pleasure she would have in it — so I would not 



221 

give it to her. I had it made into a brooch and gave it 
to a friend of mine, the lady that I was to have 
brought round that night to meet you. I do not Hke 
to hide anything that I do, so I thought I would tell 
you about it. It was not because I did not prize it, but 
because it was spoken of in a rather nasty way as be- 
longing to you or rather coming from you. I thought, 
for the sake of peace, and to put it out of their way, I 

would send it to Mr. T , and for the sum of £2 I had 

a gold bar and the stone in the centre. You will remem- 
ber that night at the hotel I asked you what I would do 
with it. I hope you understand the position I was 
placed in and how I felt about it. 

If ever I get anything given to me again it will be 
my game not to say who gave it to me, then I shall not 
be troubled about it. 

I took your photo out of the frame in the draw- 
ing room as you desired. I have it now in the drawer 
of my desk at the store. 

Now, Mrs. Robinson, I must ask you to pardon 
me for the liberty I have taken in writing you. Trust- 
ing that you are well and that I will hear from you 
soon, with my kindest regards, believe me as ever. 

Your sincere friend, 

Harold. 
Friday, 11/15. 



New Zealand. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

You will be wondering if I am dead or as bad, I 
suppose, when I have been so long in replying to your 
kind and welcome letter under date of December 23d. 



224 

I am sending this to the mountains, for I suppose you 
will be back there by now. Has the chief left the ship 

or does he still go to sea? I have not seen the C 's 

since you left, only Mr. C. once. The Misses C are 

very nice girls, so also is their mother — what a nice 
little woman she is! Do you remember the way she 
used to hold your hands and ask you questions? 
I have a very clear recollection of you getting your 
hat hung up in the tree. Then you, buying the plums, 
and you and I eating them coming along Princes 
street by the Albert Park. I do remember the windy 
drive to Onehunga and Otahuhu. It was a pity it was 
so very windy you had to put your hat straight on 
several times besides having your hair blown into your 
eyes. However, the next time we go out driving to- 
gether we will have a hooded buggy to protect us from 
the wind. I fear that is a pleasure that is not in store for 
me any more. I wish I could have made your stay 
here in Auckland more pleasant than I did. I hope you 
will get the photo with this letter. The reason you 
have not heard from me is just that I had no new ones 
taken. I like to fulfill my promises. You may return 
the one you have to me. 

By the way I saw a photo of yourself in Hanna's 
in Queen street. You are dressed in white. Do you 
know it? I came on it one day as I was looking around. 
It was a sight for my eyes — it was so unexpected. 

Now I am going to have some fun with you, Mrs. 
Robinson (on paper). There was a lady at our house 
the other day who saw your likeness and said f^he was 
sure she saw you at the Lake in January of this ^ear. 



225 

"N'ou misj^ht tell old friends when you make flying visits 
to New Zealand. 

I assured her she was wholly mistaken, for I said 
you were in New York City on December 3rd. 

I made a discovery wdien I went to the Post-office 
to send that parcel to you. There is no parcel post 
between New Zealand and America, so it is goings 
through the New Zealand Express Co. by the way of 
London. You will get it some day over there in the 
mountains. Tt is a glove box made from New^ Zealand 
woods (inlaid). I hope you are quite well now. 

I am very well myself, and still at the same place. 
I must close now or I w'ill not have anything to say 
next mail. 

With my best wishes, believe me as ever, 

Your sincere friend, 

Harold. 



New Zealand. 
My dear friend Alice: — 

I hope you will not think me ''cheeky" when I 
address you thus. I received your w^elcome letter on 
the day you expected I would, on the 21st of May. 
Thank you very much for the photo of yourself wdiich 
you sent me with the other. It was very good of you 
to send it down to me without me asking you, but then 
you are always very good. But I had better stop try- 
ing to make pretty speeches or you will be scolding me 
next time you write. The "Ruapeha" arrived in Lon- 
don about the 29th of ]\Iay. so you should have got 
that parcel about the 7th of June. I could only pay the 



226 

carriage on it as far as New York, so I want you to 
tell me when you answer this what further charges you 
had to pay on it. 

So it is all up between the chief and the young 
lady. So far as I am concerned I would say let them 
go. I could not go to Symond street the night you 
set, because I had some people at the house. I have 
been down past the Caithness on more than one 
occasion. T looked up to the corner of the veranda 
and remembered the place where we used to sit. It 
brought back very pleasant memories, but it also 
brought up sad memories — sad, because those times 
will not return. 

I hope you will not feel lonely keeping house by 
yourself. You will be able to take short trips as you 
say, and that will be very enjoyable. By the way, that 
was rather a pretty idea putting the photo on the silk 
ribbon. Did you cut it out? I would like to get a 
New York paper occasionally from you. Thank you 
very much. Did you get the Graphic, which I sent 
you? I will await the arrival of the photo of your 
horses with interest. They are good horses, I know. 
I sometimes see that Mr. H., who was at the Caith- 
ness the same time as you. I still go to the same 
church where you went with me. It has been painted 
this winter and looks quite new again. I have smiled 
sometimes when I think of something you asked me 
once. You asked me if I was good. Never heard 
it put that way before. Well, I am still good and 
attending church and teaching a class of girls in the 
Sunday school. The ''Mariposa" is alongside this 
morning, so she will take this letter. 



22y 

Trusting you are in good health and happy, and 
hoping to hear from you again soon, I remain as ever 

Your very sincere friend, 

Harold. 



Auckland. 
My dear Alice: — 

I am going to write you a long letter this time. 
First of all, you did not do as I asked you to do, namely, 
to tell me how much you had to pay on the parcel. 
Now, you just tell me the next time you write, please, 
Mrs. Alice. Your last letter was very welcome, espe- 
cially as I missed getting one mail. I was rather sorry 
to hear you were unsettled over there. Have you sold 
your horses? You will be feeling quite lost without 
them. I can quite imagine you going to camp meet- 
ing, because you favored me with your company when 
you were here in Auckland by coming to church. I 
was glad to have you with me, I can assure you. The 
girls all wondered who you were, I know, and I felt very 
proud of it that you were a friend of mine. I hope you 
have enjoyed the meeting very much. I hope you have 
also from it got a lot of good. I shall be interested to 
know how you liked it. You know we never have any 
such meetings out in these parts. Now, dear Alice, there 
is one thing on my mind which has given me a lot of 
trouble, and I want to ask your forgiveness. I have 
never forgiven myself for giving away that lovely 
present which you gave me — the diamond pin. I ex- 
plained to you in my first letter why I gave it away. 
You did not say whether I did right or wrong. I 
wish you would tell me what you think about it; I shall 



228 

not mind. It did seem so cruel to give it away after 
you being so good and kind to me. But, perhaps, you 
imderstood my feelings. Things were so miserable 
for both you and me when you were here that I did not 
know what to do. You would not hear of taking it 
back yourself and I would not give it to any one in 
the family. I have been sorry since for what I have 
done. I might have kept it for a keepsake. Will you 
forgive me, and try and feel how it was when I did 
what I did? If you will do that I shall feel happy and 
I promise you that I will never willingly offend you 
any more. Do you believe me? You may, for I am in 
earnest. You seem to be very dissatisfied with the 
States just now on account of your friends leaving. 
Perhaps you will think better of going to London to 
live. You seem to think that I will be getting married 
and stepping of¥ some of these days. Well, the truth 
is, Alice, I have not even got a young lady. Could 
you help me to get one if I come over to you in the 
States? I have a dream, you know, that some time I 
will come over there to see you, but as yet it is only 
a dream. Perhaps, if my gold mining speculations 
turn out well I might manage it, but we will see. It 
would just be lovely to see you once more and have a 
long chat, face to face, instead of on paper. I was 
speaking to a young fellow the other day who used 
to work in a store in Philadelphia. He said he could 
give me a letter that would get me a place in the same 
store at about $20 a week, but I think that is hardly good 
enough. I did not know that the ''Arawa" had been 
lost. It would have been a terrible affair if she had 
gone down with your precious soul on board. I won- 



22() 

dcr, too, why you went home so soon when there wa^ 
no immediate hurry. I was truly sorry to lose you. I 
often wish I could take your arm now and go for a nice 
long walk. I wonder if it will ever be my good fortune 
to do so again. I never thought of "for ever" and 
''never more" in the way you do until I got your last 
letter. I know what a long time it is now ; it seems that 
one can scarcely grasp it — it is so long. I am glad that 
the past has made you think. It is the best thing any 
one of us can do and, Alice, if you and I should never 
meet again on God's footstool, shall we meet in that 
better world where there shall be no more partings, 
neither sorrow nor crying nor pain and where God will 
wipe away all tears from their eyes? (Revelation 21 
and 4.) 

I enjoyed the Heralds very much, thank you. I 
would like a paper with Talmage's sermons published 
in it. Do you like the Graphic, or would you like one 
or some of the other papers — The Star or the Herald? 

Now, dear Alice, I must close as it is half past 
eleven o'clock at night. With love, believe me ever, 

Your true friend, 

Harold. 



New Zealand Post-offtce Telegraphs. 

To Mrs. Alice Robinson, passenger by R.M.S.S. Mari- 
posa, Auckland. 
Regret unable to see you again. Wish you 

pleasant journey. Good bye. 

M. Harris, 

Wellington. 



230 

Port Chalmers, New Zealand, April. 
Dear Alice: — 

Your letter of February 21st only reached me on 
April 2d. The envelope bears the post mark of February 
2ist, and where it has been lying all this time I cannot 
find out — as I have made inquiries at our office and 
also at the Post-office but cannot get any satisfaction. 

When we left the Auckland wharf I put myself in a 
position so that you could see me — and I you — and I 
watched until you seemed to mingle with the crowd 
and fade away. I then said to myself: There is a good 
little woman I might never set eyes on again, but shall 
never forget. I saw Williamson climb over the rail 
and shake hands with you, and must admit felt rather 
annoyed, as I thought I was the last, too. 

There is no mistake, little w^oman. I am sure that 
on our departure from Auckland you felt very miser- 
able. I could see it in your face. And no wonder, 
considering the long time you had spent on board the 
ship where you knew everybody and all hands had a 
good word for you. As regards myself, our acquaint- 
ance was not as long as yours with some others, but 
flatter myself it was long enough for us to understand 
each other, and I shall always think of you when I hear 
the word Lake Takapuna mentioned. That was a jolly 
day for me, and when I take another run over there 
I shall sit on the stones where we sat together and 
think of the happy day we spent. 

The mussel shell hangs in my cabin, and I intend 
to keep it, and am glad to hear you have yours safe — 
also the lake weed. 



231 

What a pity there is no telephone from here to the 
mountains, so as we could have a long talk with each 
other. I don't know why }'OU should think it would 
have been better if you had stopped at home and not 
taken your trip, as I fail to see where you have caused 
trouble (as you put it in your letter). As for thinking 
it would have been better if you had thrown yourself 
overboard the night you nearly fell into my arms, my 
advice is, put those thoughts out of your head, as I 
am sure you have something to live for. A woman 
with your disposition can always make friends wherever 
you go, and as regards myself having something to live 
for, 1 know I have. While reading your letter again 
to-night I am wondering if you have kept your vow, 
I mean in reference to speaking to anybody on board 
the "Alariposa." Now, I hope you did speak to every- 
body and had a good time; if not, your trip must have 
been very miserable, as you are a light-hearted woman 
by nature and fond of company — therefore I hope you 
had an enjoyable trip. And now, dear girl, I suppose 
you are home again among your friends and living in 
your happy home on the Hudson. I wish it were i»os- 
sible for me to just get a peep at you, to see how you 
look. But God knows if I shall ever have that pleasure. 

Well, Alice, I must end this and say good bye, 
hoping to hear from you sometimes, at the same time 
wishing you all the happiness it is possible fo^ you to 
have. 

Dey. 

If you can think of it, dear Alice, send me a few 
papers sometimes, and if you would like any New 
Zealand ones I will send them to you with pleasure. 



232 

Once more good bye! I am only sorry that I can- 
not send you a kiss, but consider the will for the deed. 

J3ev. 



Dunedin, New Zealand, June nth. 
Dear Alice: — 

Just a few lines to let you know that I am alive, 
but I have not been well. I have been in bed for some 
time with inflammation of the kidneys, and, dear 
Alice, I have nearly passed in my cheque. I have been 
three weeks in bed and am anything but strong yet, 
but hope to be very soon now. I have been in JDune- 
dm since shortly after I last wrote you and was quite 
busy until I took ill, which was caused through catch- 
ing cold and not paying attention to it. 

You must know, it is very cold here just now, as 
it is the depth of winter and we have plenty of snow 
on the ground and hills. I only wish it was warmer, 
as I should like to take a walk or drive. But the doctor 
will not let me go out yet, and here I am shut up in 
the city hotel all day in front of a large fire. In fact, 
I should not be writing this letter to you, but cannot 
help sending you a line, as we were such great friends 
when you were out here — we spent a pleasant time to- 
gether. Perhaps I am selfish, but I would like very 
much if you were here now and I had you to help me 
pass the weary hours away. I have received your let- 
ter telling me you were back in your mountain home, 
and I somehow think you do not seem glad to be there 
again, but suppose felt as though you could not settle 
down again after having been so long away. And now, 



233 

since you have met all your old friends, and dogs and 
horses, you do not feel inclined to move again. 

If I ever get to San Francisco I cannot say; but if 
I should, I shall not forget to telegraph you as soon as 
I arrive and if it can be managed will ask you to take 
rail and meet me half way, as I am longing to see you 
again, even if you will only let me take your hand! I 
am afraid you will think there is very little interesting 
matter in this letter, but you must excuse the scarcity 
of news and the writing as I am not the man you knew: 
I have had such a shaking up! But, Alice, don't be 
afraid of me, as I shall soon be the fat fellow you knew. 

Now I shall conclude, hoping to hear that you are 
settled once again in your mountain house. I also hope 
the time is not far ofT when I shall have the pleasure 
of seeing how your grace is. 

With kind love to you, dear, and all the happiness 
this world can give, is the wish of your old friend 

Dey. 

Christ-church, New Zealand, Augu-jt. 
Dear Alice: — 

By the last mail I received from you a card with 
a few lines on it complaining that I had not written 
you, and you address me as dear friend, asking also if 
I have forgotten you. Well, little woman, I thought you 
knew me better than that, but since receiving that card 
I got another communication in the shape of what I 
call a letter you would write, and when I read it, which 
I do often, I can see you with your light cloak on, also 
the white cap you used to wear on board and your 



234 

lorgnettes that you bought in Christ-church. Every- 
thing is as fresh in my memory as if it only occurred 
yesterday, and I have not the least desire to forget 
anything that occurred during the short time we were 
together, as I always look upon that trip we had to- 
gether as the most pleasant one I have ever had and 
would give something to have it over again, but suppose 
that will never be as the chances are you may never 
come to this part of the world again and God knows 
when I shall come to America. 

Yes, Alice, I have been very ill and all alone here 
in Christ-church. It is nearly three months now since 
I was first taken bad and suppose I am greatly to blame 
myself, because when I got all but well from the first 
attack I went out and caught cold and, of course, took 
ill again and was obliged to take to my bed and stop 
there for two weeks, but, thank goodness, I have 
cheated the grave digger so far and am feeling some- 
thing like myself again, also am getting back the fat 
I lost and reckon in a couple of months I shall be as 
plump as ever. 

By the last outward mail I wrote you, also sent you 
a weekly paper with a full description of the Sounds; 
also pictures of them. I know you will be interested 
as I suppose you have not forgotten Milford Sound. 
I can see you smiling now on the top of the wheel 
house, with W. and S. standing beside you, while I had 
to content myself with that fair-haired girl; but never 
mind, Alice, you were happy and that was all I wanted. 
Look out for the letter and paper, as I addressed them 
to the mountains. 

It seems strange, but I have never seen W. or S. 



235 

since they left Sydney, and I have been In Sydney and 
Melbourne since. 

Thanks, dear Alice, for the papers you have sent 
me; they were very interesting to me and everybody 
wants them here after I have done with them. With 
this letter you should receive four (4) weekly papers, 
one of Sydney and three of New Zealand, In one 
of the N. Z. papers you will see the trial and execution 
of Mrs. Dean for child murder. She is the first woman 
hung in New Zealand and I think, as everybody else 
does, that she got her deserts and feel confident you 
will think the same when you have read the particu- 
lars. 

I am surprised to see that you have left your 
mountain home, as I thought you were so attached to 
it but suppose you know what is best for you, and sin- 
cerely trust you will be happy in your new home. What 
would I give to be seated with you under the shade trees 
you write about. Sometime when you are seated under 
them you might think of one who is so many miles 
away. 

I visited Lake Takapuna last time I was in Auck- 
land. A friend of mine named B was passenger 

to Sydney and, it being such a fine day, we made up 
our minds to take the ferry to the North Shore and 
walk the remainder, which we did; also walked back, 
and you may be sure we were very, very tired after 
reaching the ship. We arrived at the hotel in time for 
lunch, and must admit it was a little better than the one 
vou and I got. Then we walked down to the Lake and 
sat down on the spot where you and T sat. The lake 
weed was there, also some shells — I did not disturb 



236 

them, as they were the cause of pleasant thoughts run- 
ning through my mind. While seated there I was so 
quiet that my friend said to me: "What are you think- 
ing about, old man"? and I answered, "I would give 
five years of my life to be seated here just now with 
the last lady I saw seated here where I am." Then 
he said: ''Well, I am sorry that I cannot be transformed 
into that lady." 

Everything, Alice, seems just the same as when you 
saw it last — the ducks on the lake, the boats in the water 
— nothing seemed altered. After we left the lake we 
went towards the hotel and sat in the room where you 
and I had our cup of tea. Then I took my friend up 
the tower to show him the view, after which we had a 
drink and started for Auckland. I am glad you still 
have the shells and weed, also the stone from Lyttleton. 

I am very sorry to hear that your dog Leo is dead, 
as I know you were very fond of him. By the way, you 
used to talk of him to me. Perhaps I may see his skin 
some day — who knows? 

Now, dear Alice, I must draw this letter to an end 
and hope you are well and happy in your new home; 
also am glad you have some nice friends living with 
you. Also trust that God will watch over you, and 
make your life a happy one to the end. Good bye, 
dear! With love from 

Dey. 

P.S. — If convenient send some more of those nice 
papers, and I shall send some in return. 

D. 



^V7 
Christ-church, New Zealand, October. 
Dear AHce: — 

By the last mail I only got two papers from you — 
tiot even a line to say if you were well or anything. 
VMiat have I done that you have not sent me a few 
ines lately? I know you have not forgotten me or 
/ou would not send me papers; so in the future I shall 
?xpect a letter from you, if it be ever so short. I sent 
rou some papers, and one had some views of the 
"bounds in it, but am sending you one this time, which 
s named Fiord Land. It gives a good idea of the 
imount of ice and snow there is in this country, also 
;iews of jNIilford Sound and other interesting places 
lere, and as you have been in Milford Sound and viewed 
t from the top of the wheel house, perhaps you will 
•ecognize the place. Do you remember what a beauti- 
ul day that was? I will never forget how nice you 
ooked and how happy you seemed when we steamed 
ip that Sound. Strange to say, I have not been there 
jince, and have no desire to see it again, but if I should 
lappen to be in the ship that calls there when we are 
jteaming up the centre I shall think of you. 

Unfortunately I have been ill again, the old com- 
plaint — kidneys. I caught cold through my own fault 
md have been laid up for three weeks, but am glad to 
5ay that I am getting well again and will be more careful 
n the future. What with my first illness and the sec- 
ond one, I have been in Christ-church now just five 
iionths and will be jolly glad to get aw^ay to sea again, 
vvhich will be next month, I hope, but do not know 
^vhat ship I shall be going on. 



238 

T y is ashore just at present, and it is his inten- 
tion to start for England next month. He wishes to 
be kindly remembered to you. 

Now, Alice dear, you must excuse this short note 
as I am still very weak and unable to write a long letter, 
but hope you will not forget to write sometimes, as I 
always look forward for some news of you every mail 
and must thank you for the papers that you send me. 

Now good bye! Hoping you are well and quite 
pleased with your new home, with love and kisses, 

Dey. 



Christ-church, New Zealand, December. 
Dear Alice: — 

Your letter of the 6th October to hand, and you 
don't know how glad I was to hear from you. Why I 
should be so glad to receive letters and papers from 
you often makes me think, and the more I think the 
more I get mystified, as I know very little about you 
except what you have told me and you know about the 
same of me. Yet, on the arrival of every mail, I look 
forward for news from you, and I can only put it down 
to one thing and that is this — I am very fond of you, 
and very often wish you were not so far away so I could 
hear your merry laugh and kiss your lips as I would 
like to. Don't be surprised, little woman, if I should 
turn up in the States one day and ask you to let me 
take you in my arms once more. I wonder if you 
would refuse. I don't think so, as I know what a lov- 
able little w^oman you are; but if I should never see 
you again you have impressed me so much that it will 



239 

be hard to forget you, and by the tone of your letters 
I think you often give me a thought, and a kind one 
at that. 

I often think of the first time I spoke to you. I 
seemed so glad after, and we seemed to be friends from 
the first meeting, and somehow more towards the last, 
and as far as I am concerned. Still that last night at 
the Albert is one that I shall often think of; also the last 
I saw of you as we were leaving the wharf for Sydney, 
I don't think I saw anybody on that wharf but your- 
self. I watched until you seemed to fade away, then I 
thought, *'J^st my luck." 

Yes, dear Alice, send me your photo; it did not 
arrive by this mail, so don't forget. I am looking for- 
ward to its arrival, and when I receive it I shall get 
the prettiest frame possible for it and keep it hung up 
where I can always see it, so that I shall be reminded 
of my love in the States, if it is necessary, but don't 
think it will be. 

I do not remember Mr. H of Sydney, and have 

not seen anything of W 's, D e, B r or 

S n; they have all disappeared. It does seem funny 

where people you have met go to; they say good bye, 
and perhaps that is the last you see or hear of them. 

I get the Metropolitan Magazine you send me, I 
find the contents very good, especially some of the pic- 
tures, and the reading matter is very interesting. I am 
sending you this time the Auckland weekly paper, and 
the Xmas number of the Graphic. 

T y is in Dunedin and expects to sail for Eng- 
land soon. I told him you wished to be remembered 
and he sends his regards. 



240 

Now, dear x\lice, I must conclude, hoping you are 

well and enjoying yourself at P , as I suppose, and 

hope you got back safely from your drive to the moun- 
tains. 

As for myself I am as strong as ever and have got 
entirely over my illness. So, with kind love and kisses, 
and hoping to hear from you soon, yes, surely by next 
mail, believe me. 

Your love in N. Z., 

Dey. 



Dunedin, New Zealand, January. 
Dear Alice: — 

Your welcome letter of Nov. 30th to hand; also 
the papers; I was especially glad to receive the let- 
ter, and hope you will always send me a few lines as 
anything in the shape of a letter from you is always 
welcome. When I am reading your letter I try to 
make myself believe that I can hear you speaking the 
words, but cannot persuade myself that you are really 
speaking as there is something wanting, and that is 
your old smile, which I cannot forget and have made up 
my mind if things go well with me for a little longer, 
I shall hear your voice again and kiss that dear face 
of yours again and again. 

Yes, little woman, in my last I told you that I had 
been ill again and suppose it serves me right. After 
the first attack I did not take care of myself and had a 
relapse, which was worse than the first dose, but I am 
glad to say that I am nearly myself again but a good 
deal thinner. The warm weather has done me the world 
of good, and I have just returned from Auckland where 



241 

T have been staying- for three weeks with some friends, 
and when I was in the Albert Hotel I used to think of 
yon, especially of the last evening we spent together. 
In fact, I thought so much about you and that evening 
that I was not content until I had a look at the room 
where we said good bye. 

T hope by the next mail to receive your long- 
promised photo, and when I get afloat again will send 
you one of my ship. 

You surprise me about your new home. T thought 
it was just the place that suited you, and I rather like 
your idea about settling in California, as I think it 
would be just the place that would suit you; the climate 
is so nice, but you do not mention which part you 
prefer. 

Now, dear Alice, T must conclude as I have made 
a mistake about the closing of the mail and was obliged 
to hurry up or miss it, and I did not want to do that. 

I am sending you three papers which I hope will 
please you. 

So, with fondest love and many kisses, believe me 

Yours, 

Day. 



Melbourne, Australia, March. 
Dear Alice: — 

I suppose you are beginning to think I have for- 
gotten vou as you have not received a letter from me 
in some time. But, do not think that, little woman, as 
your image often occupies my thoughts and, perhaps 
it may appear strange to you, but when I think about 



242 



•s 



you I can always see you, and as I did that night you 
put your head through the port and I kissed you for the 
first time. Of course, you remember it just as well as I 
do. W n was there, and also T y, and my earn- 
est wish is that we might have it all over again but sup- 
pose that is impossible, as you often mention in your 
letters that we might never meet again. 

The reason why I did not write last mail is that I 
missed it. It was on a trip to the Macquarie Islands, 
which lie to the south of New Zealand. We had a party 
of sixrty people who were going there to inspect the 
Islands so as to select a position for a lighthouse and 
were away five weeks. I intended writing before we 
left, but thought we would be back in time if they had 
only made a business trip, but they were not bound to 
time. 

I saw the Duke to-day. He tells me he intends 
going to sea again. I cannot understand a man going 
to sea with that amount of money. I wish it was mine. 
If so some of it would be spent on a visit to you, as I 
should like to see you again very much, even if it were 
to say good bye again. 

Your letter of December 24th I have just read over 
again, and it is easy for you to write "give all thoughts 
of me up," but that at present seems impossible. They 
say time works wonders, and perhaps it may, but I 
feel sure the time is far distant when I shall forget you, 
and to show you that I speak the truth I will do any- 
thing you wish but cease writing to you — that I shall 
never do until I have lost all trace of you. I am not 
the least afraid that you will forbid me writing to you 



243 

as I think it gives yon nearly as much pleasure to hear 
from me as it gives me to hear from you. 

In your letters you express your love for me, and 
it gives me pleasure to read them. Then, again, I have 
often thought we could never be anything but friends, 
as you used to impress on me so often that you would 
never marry again, in fact, you mentioned that fact the 
last night we had together at the Albert, and I have 
often thought you did it out of kindness; but it was too 
late then. You had made the world seem brighter be- 
fore that night after our first meeting, which was on the 
*'M ," when you were leaning over the rail. Some- 
how after that you seemed to fill up a gap, or something 
that was wanting in my life. So I have considered 
since that it was fate that brought us together, and if 
you think it is better to just remain friends only I must 
try and be content, as I would do anything you wish. 
Your photo arrived safely, and I often look at it and 
wonder what you are doing. Perhaps you are looking at 
mine, and I am very pleased you think the last I sent 
you a good one. As for yours I think it splendid, and 
am awfully glad you sent it as I can often look upon it 
and think of you. I keep it in a prominent position, 
whether ashore or afloat. At present we are lying at 
the Melbourne wharf. Do you remember, dear, you 
were landed there? I do.. 

As for my health I am quite recovered from my ill- 
ness and am my old self again, just as you knew me, 
but not quite so fat, and I sincerely hope you are en- 
joying good health as you deserve it, dear. 

With this letter I am sending you Hobart papers 
That will be a change from those I have been sending — 



244 

one is the Xmas number and is full of Tasmanian 
views, including a view of Hobart, which I think you 
will recognize. You will see the steamers at the wharf 
that the "Monowai" occupied when you were with us. 

Now, dear, I must conclude, or you will think I am 
never going to end. But, to tell the truth, I feel as if 
I could go on writing forever, and I am afraid if I do 
not stop you will get tired reading this letter. So I 
shall say good bye, but not without a kiss, as I have 
just kissed the nearest I can get to you, and that is your 
dear face mounted on silk ribbon. 

The "Monowai" is due at Auckland on the 26th 
of this month, and I expect on my arrival to get a 
letter and some papers from you; if not, I shall be very 
disappointed. 

I have been wondering if you have made up your 
mind to live in California or, perhaps, you are there now. 
If so, I hope you get this letter. 

Well, good bye this time, Alice. Wishing you 
every happiness and good health. 

Your sincere friend, 

Dey. 



Auckland, N. Z., May nth. 
Dear Alice: — 

On May i6th, the **Alameda" sails from Auck- 
land, and as she brought your letter dated March 24th, 
I am writing you by her return. 

Your letter was very welcome and I will forgive 
you for not sending me either paper or letter by the 
''Monowai," and hope you have forgiven me for not 
writing by one mail. If I remember correctly I think it 



245 

must have been at the time I was away at the Mac- 
quarie Islands, which, I think, was mentioned in my 
last. 

The Duke is in Dunedin cutting a great dash. I 
saw him the other night. He was with a clean-shaved 
fellow, something like himself, and he seemed so taken 
up with his friend that he hardly noticed me. So I have 
made up my mind he will be the first to speak when we 
meet again. 

By the heading of your letter I see you are still in 
the same place and not yet gone to California, Have 
you given up the idea, or are you still waiting until 
your mind is made up? 

Yes, Alice, I would like very much to be running 
between London and New York, but that is, I sup- 
pose, as you say, out of the question, very few vacancies 
occurring in those ships; besides I should want very 
great influence to get one of those appointments. 

I shall be in Auckland again in a few days, and 
suppose will call in at the Albert. If so, I shall think of 
you as I always do, especially when I see that place. 

Yes, my dear, we have had many passengers this 
season, but they are getting less now as we are just 
beginning to feel the winter; in fact, you might say they 
have it in the South, as there is plenty of snow on the 
hills at present and I am afraid we are in for a severe 
one this year. Last year was bad enough, but the snow 
has started very early this winter. 

I wonder when I shall get that photo you have 
promised so long. Well, I will wait patiently, as there 
is one of you just over the head of my bunk at present, 
also a shell similar to the one you have. 



:246 

I am sending you some papers; also a nice little 
book on the Sounds. The Metropolitan Magazine I 
like very much. It is a splendid paper. 

Now, Alice, good bye again, until you hear from 
me again. I was going to write "See me," but goodness 
knows when that will be. • I wish it were possible to 
know as I am longing for it. 

So with fond love and kisses, also hoping I come 
to you in your sleep, I remain. 

Yours, 

Dey. 



Dunedin, New Zealand, July 4th. 
Dear Alice: — 

To-day the glorious 4th, but little notice is taken 
of it in this town — they are too Scotch. I have only seen 
the stars and stripes floating at one place, and that is at 
the Consul's. They don't seem to understand anything 
about holidays here, unless it is St. Andrews' or New 
Year's day. Now, if I had been in Sydney, I should 
have gone with some of my American friends to the 
picnic they hold every year, and you may bet it is a 
jolly good one. On June 29th I reached Dunedin and 
found some papers and two letters from you. You do 
not know how glad I was to get them, as I did not 
even get a letter or newspapers from you the mail be- 
fore, and I am sorry now, but I felt so hurt that I did 
not send you either letter or newspaper by the return 
mail, so I hope you were not angry when you found 
the mail had arrived and I had not written. 

The swallow's wing came safely, and at present it 
is fixed near a shell over my bunk, and every time I 



247 

see it and the shell I always think of somebody who is 

far away, living in a place called P . While I think 

of it I must not forget to let you know that the Duke 
has left here by the ''Kaikawa" for England about a 
month now, so he might cross the Atlantic and call on 
you if he knows your address, or, perhaps, you might 
meet him accidentally. What a lark, if you meet! I 
should like to see your face, but I must inform you 
that he looks quite different now, as he is clean shaved, 
and must admit it is anything but an improvement. 

Do you remember Mrs. R ? She was a pas- 
senger by the "Monowai" to Gisborne — the trip you 
travelled to Melbourne — and was in the same cabin 
as you. She is the wife of one of our captains. Well, 
I was spending an evening at their house this time 
when at Dunedin (she is living there now), and she 
told me she often wondered what had become of you; 
also said that you seemed to be very much in love with 
the Duke as you were always talking of him. But I 
let her know that it was quite different now, and she 
seemed glad. I do not think the "Monowai" will be 
running to Frisco much longer as there is a new ship 
being built for that trade, and if I should be lucky 
enough to get her and can possibly manage it I shall 
take a run by rail to New York — if only to get a look 
at you. I do not say that will satisfy me, but it will be 
better than not seeing you at all. 

Your photo wath the feathers around your neck 
(I mean the one taken at Auckland) is always before 
me. No matter when I am in my cabin I see you. You 
always seem to be looking at me. It is a good photo; 
you have the old smile that I remember so well, and 



248 

when I am looking at it I often wonder what you are 
doing — perhaps lying in your hammock under the trees 
at P and thinking of me, I hope. 

We are in for a very severe winter this year. At 
present it is very cold, and goodness knows what it 
will be like next month. 

Now, dear Alice, I must finish, hoping you are 
keeping well and are as jolly as ever; also hope your 
horses are all well again, and that the day is not far off 
when you and I will be seated together behind them, 
if only for one short drive. 

Once more good bye! May you always have 
everything that this world can give, is the prayer of 

Yours sincerely, 

Dey. 



Dunedin, July 25th. 
Dear Alice: — 

Your welcome letter dated June 17th reached me 
yesterday; also the Harper's Weekly, Book of New 
York views, Hudson River views and Metropolitan, 
and many thanks for them. If I were only near enoug;h 
you should have your reward with interest for sending 
them. As for the book of New York views that I shall 
most certainly keep; everybody who has seen the book 
admires it very much. The Harper's Weekly is a good 
paper, especially the issue you sent. What a time it 
must have been for those unfortunate people at St. 
Louis! There is no mistake, when you have a fire, acci- 
dent or storm, it is a proper one, and by the views T 
think St. Louis has had its share of tornadoes for some 
time. 



249 

Your letter this time is short (but sweet), and I'm 
afraid mine is going to be short also, as this country 
is so dull just now and there is very little news. All 
you read in the papers now is the inquiry into the 
failure of the Colonial Bank; it is before the parliament 
just now and I am afraid some of the directors will get 
into trouble before the inquiry is finished. 

This has been a severe winter so far; in the North 
they have had rain and gales of wind for the last month. 
The South is very cold, nothing but wind, rain or 
snow — they have hardly seen the sun for a month. 
Everybody seems to have a cold, and no wonder. You 
want to be web-footed to live here just now. 

In my last I wrote that the Duke had gone to Lon- 
don, so I cannot give you any more tidings of him; 
but as I wrote before, you might meet him in New York 
one of these days. 

I am surprised to hear you are tired of America. 
I always thought you would live in no other country, 
but suppose you are like other people who have left 
tlie country to which they belong and seen other places 
— they always have a feeling that they would like to 
return to the places they have visited. As for you liv- 
ing in Auckland I cannot imagine that, as I am sure it 
is too slow for anybody, especially people who have 
lived in or near large cities. If you had said Sydney 
or Melbourne I could understand, as there is some life 
there, but nothing would please me more than see you 
walk down Auckland wharf some fine day and say you 
have come to stay. 

As for myself I have spent the most of my life 
traveling and often wonder if I could settle down on 



250 

shore, but suppose it all depends who it is with, as I 
am sure I should want a companion, and it would be a 
long-haired one at that — one of my own sex would 
not suit. 

So you have had your photo taken again at last, 
and I am glad you think it good; also expect a copy 
of it next mail, if not, look out, as you have promised it 
for a long time. But I don't think you can improve 
much on the one taken at Auckland; to my fancy it is 
very like you, and as T see it many times during the day 
I often remark to myself, "I wonder what that little 
woman is doing now, and if ever I shall see her again"? 

On my arrival at Sydney this time I expect my 
mother will have taken a house, as she is there now 
and at last I have gained my point. I have been try- 
ing for the last three years to get her to leave Mel- 
bourne and have succeeded at last. Ever since she left 
Sydney to live in Melbourne she has been ill, so I think 
Sydney climate suits her best. 

Now to conclude. I hope you are well and happy; 
also that you will write me a longer letter next time, as 
I am never tired of reading your letters no matter how 
long they are. 

So, good bye for the present, Alice! With much 
love and kisses from 

Dey. 



September 2d. 
Dear Alice: — 

The ''Mariposa" has arrived without a letter from 
you. What is the matter? I hope you are not ill, and 
I don't think I have offended you with anything I have 



251 

written. If so I am awfully sorry, as it was not meant. 
But am glad you did not forget me altogether. The 
newspaper reached me safely, also the photo; now, that 
pleased me very much. It is a good one, and I like the 
costume. The hat is a daisy, and would like so much to 
be near enough to kiss you under it, but as that is im- 
possible just at present, try and imagine that I have 
done so. There is no mistake, that is the most stylish 
photo I have seen for many a day. 

I have very little news. You know what a quiet 
place this is; nothing to break the monotony — they 
won't even give us an earthquake now; we have not had 
a shock for some months, and this winter so far has been 
exceedingly fine — hardly any snow in the South as yet, 
though everybody at the beginning thought we were in 
for a severe winter. I do not know what the place is 
coming to. Were it not for visits we make to Australia 
I don't know what we should do to amuse ourselves. 
Certainly there is, when on shore, a little more life in 
Australia, also variety, but our stay is short, so we can't 
see everything in the time we are there. There are two 
American companies there just now — one is playing 
"Trilby," and the other "A Trip to Chinatown." I have 
seen both and was very much pleased with them, espe- 
cially the "Trip to Chinatown." Both companies are 
doing big business, and I hear there is another company 
to arrive next mail, so you see the Americans are get- 
ting a turn now and I think they will be in demand 
hereafter. 

I am sending you some new^spapers. Now, dear, I 
must conclude, hoping you have written me by the good 
ship "Monowai," which arrives here next week; if you 



252 

have not I shall be greatly disappointed. I also hope 
the letter that I expect will contain good news and that 
you have not been ill or have had any trouble. 
With heaps of love and kisses I remain, 

Yours, 

Dey. 



Christ-church, New Zealand. 
Dear Alice: — 

Your letter of August 24th has reached me and 
also has given me a surprise. I little dreamed that you 
were in London, or had any idea of your going there 
and I cannot fathom now what took you there; you 
must have made up your mind very suddenly. 

When the "Mariposa" arrived and no letter from 
you I began to think you were getting tired of writing 
me, especially as the *'Monowai" came in before her, 
and no letter by her either, so I thought I would give 
you a chance to drop the correspondence if you wished 
and did not write you by the last mail. But/ at the same 
time, I did not think you were over the Atlantic in 
London, and I sincerely hope you had a good time. 
According to your letter I think you have enjoyed your- 
self, also still have a fancy for the brass buttons as the 
captain and the chief officer seem to have been your re- 
sort. Well, little woman, there is nothing like enjoy- 
ing yourself while you can, as they say you are a short 
time alive but a long time dead. So my advice is — : 
have all the fun you can without injuring other people. 

I received the two papers, also your photo. Why, 
you write and say that perhaps I shall not care for it I 



253 

cannot understand. Of course, I care for it and think it 
splendid, and those I have shown it to wanted to know 
if you were Scotch — that is on account of the plaid 
dress, I suppose. 

As I said before, in one of my letters, you cannot 
improve on the Auckland one; in that I see the woman 
I know as Alice, in the Brooklyn one I see a well dressed 
woman, but somehow the features are altered. Of 
course I will know it was meant for you, but there is 
something wanting. No, dear Alice, I don't think you 
can improve on the Auckland one; there is an expres- 
sion on your face that is familiar to me in that one. 

So you intend to return by the same steamer — 
quite right. If you had a good time going over, I hope 
you will have just as good a one going back; but at the 
same time I must admit that I feel a little jealous when 
I think of the good time that chief officer and captain 
will have, because it is quite true that you are good 
looking and one of the most fascinating women I have 
ever met, and I am not fool enough to think other 
people cannot see it, as that is impossible. But as 
everything about you seems quite natural I suppose 
you should be more proud of it than sorry, and I trust 
that you will live many years yet to show off your good 
looks and fascinations. 

As for getting you an opal, that is an easy matter; 
only let me know about the size, say this — also shape, 
and say whether it is to be blue or milky. As for the 
cost, that is an after matter. I have one in my ring 
now, it is about this size — and oval in shape. Every- 
body admires it, and if that size should suit I shall get 



254 

you one. I am rather anxious to hear from you again, 
just to know if you met the Duke. 

Now, dear, it is just midnight; so I must finish up, 
but somehow I feel as if I could go on writing to you 
all night. I wonder would it be worth reading if I did. 
By the time this reaches you, you will be back in Amer- 
ica, and I wish it were possible for me to jump out of 
the envelope when you open it. That would give you 
a surprise. 

Well, dear Alice, good bye for the present, hoping 
you have had a good time on your return trip. I am 
going to bed and hope I may dream something pleasant 
of you. With kind love from 

Dey. 



Brooklyn. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Yours received with thanks for your kind invitation 
to join the card party. 

I shall be present at your house if I am in the city; 
but, I am sorry to say I expect to be in Washington 
on about that date. 

With kindest regards I remain. 



, Conn., May 17th. 

My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Are you still on earth? And if so, where? Know- 
ing that you usually spend your summers in the moun- 
tains I have or will have this directed there. A friend 
and myself are intending to take a trip this summer 
and wish to visit T e, and while there would like 



255 

to call on "Alice." Pardon me, but it seemed so nat- 
ural for me to think of you by that name. Can you? 
Of course, you can, but will you inform me which is 

the best hotel for us to stop at P . Belle is married 

to a rich young fellow in Germany, or who is stationed 
there. Mary has been in Germany for three years, but 
came home last summer. Father and mamma are go- 
ing touring through Europe this summer. The girls 
at home are expecting to have a grand time — "Cats 
away, etc." 

If you are not at T e and this letter should by 

chance meet your glance, please write and let me know 
how you are. I have been wanting to see you for such 
a long time that I think you might at least give me the 
privilege. In fact, I never claimed the friendship of 
any one I so much appreciated. Now, laugh! I can 
hear you laughing and saying: "You foolish boy!" 

Kindly write me and say how and where you are. 
The next time you go to New York, please write me 
and, with your permission, I will come down and call. 

Anxiously awaiting some sort of reply, I remain. 

Very truly yours, 

Fred. 



June 24th. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Your kind invitation and letter were received, and 
would have been answered before had I not been out 
of town. 

Regret very much that Mr. A and myself will 

be unable to call on the date you mention, as Mr. A 

will be quite busy until after August ist, and alsQ, 



256 

concerning myself, will state that my people sail for 
Europe about that time. 

A few years ago you knew me as a sapling and I 
would call you ''Alice," and as my friendship has al- 
ways remained and you have never been so cruel as 
to correct me. I am just going to resume my au- 
dacity and say Alice. There you are smiling and say- 
ing: Well, well, if that fellow isn't still a youth!" 

Did I tell you Lemont had married? Well, he has 
and you must remember to ask about him when I call, 
for it seems amusing to us all. Tell me how I can 
find you if I ride down on my wheel some morning, 
that is, come to New York on the train and then ride 
over to your place just to say ''Hallo, Mrs. Robinson!" 
Actually, the more I think of you the more I have to 
tell you; in fact, I feel like a regular old gossip this 
morning. 

With much love, 

Fred. 

P.S. — Will it be convenient for you to have me call 
some morning? The reason I have not mentioned any 
date is that I would most likely come on Sunday when 
it is pleasant riding. 



September. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Many thanks, indeed, for your very kind and 
thoughtful present. I only received it just as we were 
leaving the station. I had expected to see you on 
board. I am told that knives, scissors, etc., "cut" 
friendship. We must excuse the word somehow or 
other as I should be very sorry, indeed, if that did. I 



257 

hope to see you next time, and then next time. Why, 
you'll be out with us. 

With very kind regards, pray, believe me, my dear 
Mrs. Robinson, 

Very eordiallv vours, 

F. 



London, Oct. 
My dear Alice: — 

What an awfully selfish young cad you must think 
me for not seeing- you ofT, and I have not been able to 
excuse myself for it. I thought, dear girl, that the other 
people were going to help you right to the ship, and 
my going would only make it harder for me to leave 
you in the end, so I determined not to see you at all 
that morning. When I was told you had to look after 
everything yourself to the ship I was really ashamed. 
But if \ou come over again you will not have to com- 
plain of inattention on my part, I give you my word. 
Won't you come over again soon? I would give a lot 
to have you here again. You might have stayed a week 
or two longer when you were here. 

That old fossilized skinflint Bill is still hei*e and 
worries me considerably. Thank God, he leaves soon. 

Mrs. S returned from the continent (parlez- 

vous franqais?), is still here and is rather a peculiar 
individual. I've not settled about my Australian trip 
yet, but should I go I hope you will let me call on you 
on the way. 

Since you left I have been working hard on the eye, 

trying to forget a pair of nice eyes in P . No 

doubt you are having a grand time on the steamer. I 



258 

hope you are well looked after, which I think goes 
without saying. The weather is beastly bad here, with 

rain all the time. How did M stand the voyage? 

Of course, you will tell me all about the trip when you 
write. It's going to be a rather lonely winter for me 
here in London. And now, my best girl, write me 
soon. With my best love. 

Yours, 

D. 



New York. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

No doubt you will be surprised beyond mention 
when you read this. The fact is I have been trying for 
six months to get your address and did not succeed 
until last night when I heard it by accident. As you 
probably know I am living home again and am getting 
on first rate with every one. I have a good position 
at the above address and have bettered myself a hundred 
per cent, by coming home. None knew of it until I 
walked in the door. Contrary to my apprehensions 
I was received favorably and have now become a mem- 
ber of the family again. I was told you had gone to 
Australia. I suppose it must have been a very pleasant 
trip. I am going to enter some bicycle races on the 
30th of next month and shall have to begin to train 
in about a week, so you can imagine that between busi- 
ness and training I won't have much spare time; how- 
ever, if you want me to, I will write to you often. When 
you answer this, please, address as the above, as there 
might be some too curious people elsewhere. 



-259 

I nuist rloso as it is (linnor tiiiic. but will write 
soon acrain. Should you move, please, let nie know 
and oblige. 

Yours cordially, 

Nell. 



Xew York. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

It is now some time since I received your letter, 
but until now have been prevented from writing for the 
reason that 1 have been laid up with my arm and leg 
up in bandages the result of a bad fall while training 
on my bicycle. I expect to enter the races at Plain- 
tield. X. J., on Decoration day and must work hard 
to regain what I have lost while in bed. I suppose the 
people are just beginning to go to the mountains now 
— are they not? It must be awfully lonely up there for 
\ou all alone, is it not? I should think it would become 
so monotonous that you could hardly bear it stuck up 

in such a place as T is — I want to be where there 

is some life and variety. I suppose you think an awful 
lot of your horses and that you are a fine rider, I am a 
great lover of horses myself. In Florida I used to have 
a half broke mustang and would go out riding with a 
countn- girl. She was just as full of life as could be. 
She would get on her saddle by herself, and once there 
used to go flying through the woods at a great rate: but 
even Florida with all its (supposed) charms was not 
good enough for me. and I finally came to the only 
place in God's world, Xew York. 



26o 

I must close now. Hoping to hear from you soon, 
I am, 

Yours, as ever, 

Nell. 



New York. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Your letter was waiting at the office when I re- 
turned from my vacation, a period of one week. I think 
the change you made was very wise, as it nuist have 
been very tiresome stuck up in the mountains with no 
enjoyments whatever. The family have all gone to 

L for the summer. I remain in the city now. So, 

you see, I am alone as father goes to L nights. T 

am going in some cycle races at Manhattan Beach 
next Saturday, but I cannot run as I have not been 
training and am in poor condition for a race. What 
train do you take to get to P , and can I get con- 
nections so as to leave the city at 7 P.M. and return at 
a respectable hour? I am very busy now, so I cannot 
write, but when I get some time I will write a long 
letter. 

Hoping this will find you in the best of health and 
spirits, I am, as ever, 

Nell. 



New York. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I hope the letter I sent you about a week ago 
reached you. If it did I have received no answer. I 



26 1 

should like very much to call on you next Saturday 
afternoon. T can catch the 2.20 P.M. train, which will 

hrini:^ nic at P at 3.40. Will you he in on tlial day? 

I went in some races on Saturday, hut the track 
(Manhattan Field) was so muddy that I could not do 
better than third in my heat. I hope to do consider- 
ably better on the 24th. I suppose the weather at 

r is as disagreeable as in New York at present. 

isn't it? Do you still possess that large dog you had 
in the mountains? I always admired that dog, even if 
he was a little cross at times. What sort of a place is 
P , and what do the people do there? Is it a sum- 
mer resort? I suppose driving and riding are your 
chief pleasures. Are you not awfully lonely all by 
yourself, or have you friends with you? Have you 
learned to ride a bicycle yet? If not, you have missed 
lots of enjoyment. During my week's vacation I went 
out for a spin with a young lady every morning at 
half past six. \\'e went to Fort Hamilton on one of our 
tours and went all over the grounds on foot and came 
home in time for dinner. Well, I must close now. 
Drop me a line on receipt of this, so that I will know 
if I am to call Saturday or not. Awaiting your reply, 
I am, 

Yours sincerely, 

Nell. 



New York. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Your note received; was very sorry you were en- 
gaged. It's extremely doubtful whether I can call next 



2(i2 

Saturday or not. If I can't I will call Sunday morning. 
I don't suppose I shall find you at church during the 
A.M. Will I? I shall enter the bicycle race at Man- 
hattan Field on the 20th, provided I can raise the en- 
trance fees. I suppose you often visit New York now, 
do you? I am disabled now, so cannot write, but 
merely scribble. This is to let you know that I will 
probably be out Sunday on a pretty early train. Until 
then I am, 

Yours sincerely, 

Nell. 



New York. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

If you have finally persuaded yourself to go and see 
me race at Manhattan Field, let me dissuade you from 
going as the races are going to be held at Manhattan 
Beach instead. I shall ride but don't expect to win any- 
thing, as I shall have to race all the noted class ''A" 
racers. However, if you go to the beach and I see you 
there, I am sure I can ride ten seconds faster than if 
you were absent. Don't let any one know, as papa does 
not want me to race. 

I got home in time to dress and be at business 
last Monday. I shall come out and see you whenever I 
can. We have not had one row as yet. We were so 
interested in our little game that we overlooked that. 
Write soon and if you do go to the races, don't be 
dignified but yell for all you're worth. 

Hoping you are well in good health and spirits, 
As ever, 

Nell. 



263 

New York. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Your note received. I will leave New York on the 
1.45 P.M. train to-morrow, which will bring me into 

P in good season. It is compulsory for me to 

leave Sunday morning on the 9 train. At present am 
rushed, so cannot write. 

Hoping you are well, I am, 

Yours sincerely, 

Nell. 



New York. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

It is now quite some time since I last saw or heard 
from you. I hope you are not ill. I shall try to come 
out to see you as soon as I can as I am training now 
for some races to be held at Plainfield, N. J., on Labor 
Day. If you go you will see some good races. I shall 
look for you, as I am sure you would prove my mas- 
cot. Write and tell me how things are at P and 

whether you have regained any of the money you 
lost when we last played. 

I have not much time now, so will cut this short. 
Hoping to hear from you before Saturday, I am as 
ever, 

Nell. 

P.S. — Let me know if you are going to the races. 



New York, Sept. ist. 
My dear Alice: — 

Your letter arrived last night, and you have no idea 
how glad I was to hear from you. However, you did 



264 

not surprise me much when you told me about the fine 
time you had on your trip, because a person of your 
jolly disposition must naturally be the centre of at- 
traction. I am awfully sorry you are not coming home 

soon. I was beginning to feel as though P was 

a second home for me. 

As to my plans I do not know what to say. I can- 
not obtain a situation that is worth taking and at times 
feel quite despondent. Here I am, 31, and cannot sup- 
port myself, much less a wife, so I am going to try my 
luck at fortune hunting. If you hear of any one who has 
money and wants to marry a good looking American 
over there, why let me know. I can give them a good 
time on their money. I am surprised that you did not 
make connections in the A. and H. case. How did it 
turn out? 

By the way, IVe lost my heart, but what's the use 
— there is no money in it? She is a peach, though. 
Occasionally she poses for the Standard. 

I guess we'll go Republican all right. Bankers don't 
seem to feel sorry at all. They are shipping gold into 
the country instead of out. How I wish I were with 
you, as that fellow from New Zealand says — if only 
for a moment. 

I am all alone and don't see a soul all day, so you 
must not blame me for going with actresses, models, 
etc. The mails take so long to reach from you to 
me that you should answer at once. I know your 
handwriting as far as I can see it Do not break too 
many hearts. 



265 

I will close now; hoping to hear from you in the 
near future, I am, 

Yours sincererly, 

Nell. 



Sept. 29th. 
My dear Alice: — 

Your letter arrived this A.M. I was delighted to 
hear from you. I am glad you like London and hope 
you are having what you were made for — and that is 
fun. As for me, I am in the straits. I can't get any 
work. If I had a position where I could earn my liv- 
ing I would board out. I feel that if there was ever a 
fellow born to be rich I am he, and still I have not got 
a sou, and not only that — I got into a scrape that cost 
me $25 to get out of. I spent that sum instead of get- 
ting myself a suit of clothes. When are you coming to 
New York? I long for the day when I can sit down 
and talk, eat and play cards the way we used to do. 
A fellow could forget his troubles and be happy at your 
house. Do you know I get awfully despondent at 
times, because I cannot see any future at all ahead for 
me? What I need is just what you say you need — the 
almighty dollar. If we had all we wanted, wouldn't 
we cut ices"? I guess we go ''gold" on election 
day all right, and if I had the wherewith, I would 
bet fifty to one on it. The general opinion is that 

there is no doubt about it, so what Mr. R said 

need not bother you. I had a very funny thing happen 
to me the other day. If you remember I once told you 



266 

of a girl I used to go to see. Well, she is married now 
about four or five months. I was surprised to get a 
letter from her imploring me for God's sake to come 
and see her at two P.M. Well, I went and was there 
about ten minutes, when she saw her husband returning 
from business. She nearly had a fit and she told me 
she would write; just then he entered the door. I was 
introduced and after a few words of explanation made 
my exit. I have never heard from her since. 

Please write on receipt of this and I will patiently 
wait until I get a letter, or better yet, see you. Let 
me know when you are coming home, on what 
steamer, etc. 

I nuist close now. Hoping to hear from you at 
your earliest convenience, I am, 

Yours sincerely, 

Nell. 



Railway Survey Camp. 
Parker, New South Wales. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I must apologize for not replying to your note 
long ere this, but I have been away on survey work 
almost since my return home, so I feel sure you will 
forgive. I was pleased indeed to hear of your safe 
arrival home and trust you are still enjoying good 

health. I met Miss W before she left for the 

country, and had the promise of a note before she left for 
London; but, as I have been away from Sydney, I 
was unable to see her again. We got on well up to 
the last. I thank you heartily for fulfilling your 



2(yy 

promise and will keep your letter in remembrance of 
the very happy time we spent together. I enjoyed my 
trip from start to finish like yourself, and it was no 
doubt greatly due to the very agreeable companions 
I met with on the ''Monowai." I hope we may meet 
again some day. 

Our poetical friend returned to Sydney about a 
fortnight after I did, but I have not seen him since. 
I wonder has he crossed over to your side of the 
world? Poor man, he deserves better luck. 

I am still single and am afraid likely to remain so 
for some time, as I have not been able to catch Miss 
Right's eye yet. 

With kindest wishes, I remain. 

Yours sincerely, 

X. 



S.S. H . 

New York, December — , i8 — . 
My darling Alice: — 

This will be a very short note, but I must ask you 
to accept my fondest love and best wishes, old pet, for 
all your kindness to me, not only this time, but ever 
since we met. 

To say that I love you does not begin to express 
my feelings, so you must imagine all sorts of nice 
things for yourself. 

It was delightful to have you down here, and trust 
you will come again. 

With fondest love, believe me, 

Yours devotedly, 

Bob. 



268 

S.S. H . 

At sea, December 31st, 18 — . 

My darling Alice: — 

The weather has been grand since we left, so I have 
ample time to collect no end of sleep, and am now feel- 
ing A I after my stay in New York. As this is the last 
day of the old year I have made up my mind to have 
a good paper chat with you before midnight comes, 
as the boys are all coming up then to have a social 
drink just by way of welcoming the new year in good 
old-fashioned style. I may mention right here though 
that it will be my last smile for some time, for I am 
already feeling quite different by going slowly as I 
promised you while on board here. 

Please accept my warmest wishes, darling, for 
18 — , and I sincerely trust that it may prove a thorough- 
ly happy year for you in every sense of the word. It 
would be impossible, my love, to attempt to thank you 
for all your extreme kindness to me, but I trust you 
understand me sufftciently well by this time to know 
that I am thoroughly grateful for all you have done for 
me. 

It was too bad my not writing last voyage as 
promised, but I will endeavor to make up for it this 
passage by sending double quantity, so hope you will 
not have to scold me on that score again. 

Our thirty-four passengers are not what you would 
call lively, and they all go to bed about nine, so you 
may guess I am at a loss to know how to pass my time; 
but, considering I have so many letters to answer, I 
shall have to try and get some of them off my mind, and 



269 

if all goes well I mean to do all my writing at sea in 
the future, as one ean settle down so much better here 
than on shore, especially if you are around. Myself and 

Mr. R have often wondered if you folks went 

straight home or finished the day up in New York. 

I was very delighted to see you again, but there 
were far too many here for my fancy, and I almost felt 

like killing old E when he kissed you; but as long 

as you will not have him call on you I don't mind. So 
remember this, little sweetheart. 

L seemed very pleased with his little self when 

he left — of course you know who he is. I feel awfully 
sorry for him, because you could see he is a fellow with 
brains and a comical sort of genius to boot. Good- 
ness only knows w4iat Mr. and Mrs. M must think 

of me. My note from the Hook was obliged to be 
short as I had several things to attend to. I wonder if 
you have managed to do the puzzle yet? The recol- 
lections of last week are still to the fore in my thoughts, 
and I would a thousand times rather be able to pop in 
on you to-night instead of trying to convey my 
thoughts by letter. You are a dear old girl to me, 
Alice, and I can assure you, love, that I would do any- 
thing for you, for somehow you seem to understand 
me and a word from your dear lips has a great weight 
with me, which I trust to let you see on my return. 

There is not the slightest doubt that too much 
drink is bad for me and thoroughly spoils my pleasures, 
in addition to making me feel ill as well, so I am just 
going to commence the New Year on fresh lines; I 
won't say a total abstainer, but as far as the ship is con- 



270 

concerned I am going to leave it alone. Dr. M 

has been doctoring me up, and I hope to get into 
Southampton looking very fit. 

My table is filled with passengers, but they are so 
frightfully quiet that I am glad when the meals are 
over. 

Poor old R is, like myself, writing letters to 

while away the time, so you see life is none too gay on 

the H . James and George will be having a little 

leisure time now that the has taken his departure, 

although I don't suppose it matters much to them my 
coming, as I generally manage to get on with them 
all serene in spite of breaking the cutter. Directly the 
pilot left I found that I had broken another promise in 
not sending you a sailing list, but will put one in with 
this scribble. 

If I go on writing much more you will not have the 
patience to wade through it, so I had better draw to a 
close for to-night in the hope that before the end of 
the trip I may be able to scare up something to write 
about which may interest you. 

Good night, love! With every good wish for the 
New Year, believe me. 

Yours lovingly. 

Bob. 



Southampton. 
My love: — 

Just a hurried line to thank you very much for your 
letters which I got to-day. Will write you again and 



271 

till my news. They arc now waiting clown ])cIow for 
iiK- to pay off, so you must excuse haste as it is 5 P.M. 
and all want to get home. Just don't I wish we could 
sec each other. I am sure you would say I have done 

wisely leaving off W . I cannot say how much 

better I feel. 

Good night! With love and a p^ood big kiss, 

Yours, as ever. 

Bob! 



]<roni Mrs. W- 



Salisbury. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I am very sorry not to have answered your letter 
before, but this is to say I am intending to do it in 
])erson. I am coming to town to-morrow' for just a 
night. To-morrow is quite full up, but I propose cal- 
ling on you on Thursday morning, as near as I can say, 
between 12 and i o'clock. I hope it will be convenient 
and I shall find you in, if not you might send me a line. 
If vou post it sometime to-morrow (Wed.) I should get 
it Thursday morning. If I do not hear I shall come as 
I suggest. 

I suppose you couldn't settle to come down to 
Salisbury on Thursday. It would be nice to travel to- 
gether, and you are coming, ain't you? 
You will have lots to tell me. 

Yours in anticipation, 

T . 



2^2 

From Miss T- 



The Grand Hotel. 
Manchester, Friday i8 — . 

Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

No doubt you will think I have forgotten my prom- 
ise to write, but I have so little to tell except about the 
horrid weather that I thought it was not worth while 
troubling you. 

I am leaving Manchester to-morrow, Saturday, for 
the country house of my friends, then I shall get some 
driving and bicycling if the weather will allow, both 
of which I enjoy very much. 

I have been very disappointed lately as I had hoped 
to see some of my friends here, but the one I wanted 
to see most is away ill. However, I hope to see him 
before I return to London. I am not returning for 
another week, during which time I suppose you will be 
having a very good time. Hope you have had good 
news about your dog. I feel sure he cannot be lost. 
If you find time to write to me next week, I enclose you 
my address. It will be useless to add how delightful 
it will be to hear from you. 

With kindest love, believe me, 

Sincerely yours, 

J — • 



From Miss T- 



Russell Square, London. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I hope you do not think I have forgotten you, for 



2/3 

I must assure you that is not the case. For the last 
two months I liave been so unwell with a very, very 

had cold, that at last Mrs. F went with nie to 

lirin^hton for a week. The change did me good. 

Dr. C has left London for Rome. We were 

quite sorry when he left. Mr. Q made such a noise 

that he was asked to go. For my part I was sorry, I 

liked him; but the great Mr. N said he must go, 

so he w^nt. Dr. R has stayed here twice since you 

left. How is your dog getting on? Do write me a 
long letter full of news about yourself and doings. 

Everything is just the same here. Miss A has 

gone to her house at Southsea, so there are very few 
staying here now. 

Hoping you are well and with much love, believe 
me, 

Your friend, 

J — ■ 



From Miss L- 



Grand Hotel. — Alfred Hansen. 
Naples, le March , i8 . 

My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

You will doubtless be surprised when you open this 
letter, but I want to send you a few lines to ask you how 
you are. We sailed from New York the tenth of Jan- 
uary to spend the winter months in Italy, but return 
home the end of June. I meant to have written to you 
before leaving, but it always amuses me how at the last 
one is always rushed. We had a very rough passage 
until we reached Gibraltar. Out from there to Genoa 



274 

it was perfect — as smooth as glass. We spent a week 

at Monte Carlo, then joined the Misses T s in 

Florence (they came over in October). After ten days 
there and two days in Rome we came on here. The 
weather is perfect, windows open and delicious sun- 
shine to-day. We spend a few weeks in this vicinity 

and go back to Rome for a short time. Mr. L , 

being a good sailor, has left us for three or four weeks 
and gone to Egypt — he joins us again in Rome. 

I hope you are contented with your new home, 
and most earnestly wish that you are. 

Pat the dear ponies for me. I think they would 
like the feathers the ponies wear in Florence. We 
often speak of them. 

We all join in kindest regards to you. 
Very cordially, 

M . 



From Mrs. H . 

Honolulu, Saturday 17th. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I was very glad to get the good interesting letter 
from you and to know that you have crossed in safety 
that great imaginary line we learn of so vaguely in our 

early days in our geographies. Miss L and Miss 

B left two weeks ago for the Volcano House to 

visit Mr. and Mrs. Ross. They expect to return the 
24th. Last night two very bright young ladies took 
the room next to me. They came from Portland, Or., 
on a sailing vessel, and in thirty days. One is a 
Bostonian. They were ready to go to church this 



A.M.. when the ca])tain who brouij^lit tlicni down ap- 
peared with horses and carria<;e and they have just re- 
turned now at four o'cloek from a long drive. I have 
had forty callers, been to one five o'clock tea and one 
garden party which was very picturesque — tea handed 
under the cocoanut palms. The people are delightful. 

I have such fine people at my table, Mr. S , Vice- 

Consul, his wife (who treats me like a sister), and his 
beautiful daughter, who will marry early in January. 
I enjoy taking a stitch now and then in the trousseau. 

Dr. and Mrs. M and my son complete the party. 

My boy left the Pacific Club so as to be with me. I 
felt the sacrifice w-as too much, as none of us consider 
the food extra here, but there is no better place. People 
do not like the hotel for long. My son has been suffer- 
ing from a carbuncle, wdiich kept him in bed three days. 
He is very well now and greatly enjoyed your de- 
scriptive letter, about the ''ex-cook," etc., etc. It 
must have fallen to your lot to really be the party 
leader. I have had ten letters from the States. This 
morning an American warship, the ''Yorktow^n," came 
in and brought the good news of Morton's election in 
New York State. Everything Republican by an over- 
whelming majority. Mrs. Dr. M and 1 have taken 

in three different kinds of services to-day: Episcopalian, 
Presbyterian, and to-night a tent service by an Evangel- 
ist. Do you think w^e will have an overdose? There 
is so much here of interest all the time I am not go- 
ing to tell you of — you are to come and see for your- 
self. 

I must say good night as I am tired enough. My 
?on and Mr. J send greetings. Tell me when you 



276 

arrive and whether your brother and you knew one 
another. I guess you will be glad to see land. 

Your friend, 

C . 



From Mrs. H . 

Honolulu, May 19th,. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

As I am a "shut in" now, my friends are likely to 
get their letters answered, as the ''China" is due to- 
morrow en route for San Francisco, on the tenth. I 
was taken with a violent attack of nausea and have had 
to keep pretty quiet until now. I will go to the table 
to-morrow. It has been very nice to have my devoted 
son for my physician and I am sure every one will 
spoil me if they keep on. My room is full of flowers, 
fruits and one basket arranged so artistically, and then 
such jellies and nice things. I am only allowed to have 
liquids. 

Yes, it is a charming spot here and we have had 
delightful receptions and parties. A fine musicale is 
to be given this evening. The ''Art League" has an 
opening Thursday, the 21st. Tourists come and go, 

and there is a good deal of life. Mr. and Mrs. B ■ 

called a few nights ago and were very sorry not to have 
seen more of you. 

My son is well indeed now, so much better than 
when you saw him. The young ladies keep him busy 
and he has a good time. I am thankful he seems well. 
I do not know whether I would forever like perpetual 
green. There is no anticipation of crocuses, jonquils. 



^77 

tulips and the bright upshooting blades of grass, and 
i own I hke snow and ice, skating, toboganning, skele- 
ton trees, etc., etc. I hear the season has been a hard 
one, though, so I am quite glad I was here. I get good 
news from home, so I am happy with my son. I am 
glad your pets and all were in good order. Your place 
must be delightful in summer. I must not get too tired 
so will have to say "Aloha nui," in Hawaii— a big love! 
If my son were here he would send kind memoires, I 

know. He is dining at Wikiki with Dr. H 

C. . 



Boston. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson:— 

Yes, here I am back once again under the old flag. 
I did not want to come at all, and during these cold 
days I sigh for that land of beauty, for such it was. The 
last part of my stay did not agree with me, and I lost 
flesh, and the M. Doctors said I would not live there 
two years; but I would not believe it and I did not want 
to leave that dear precious son, but the more I tried not 
to come the more I was made to. The people said I 
should not, and yet here I am, and this is the first week 
I have been at all like myself, and now I do not wrke 
much or do much but be lazy. I was unconscious three 
days on the ocean. I rested at the Occidental Hotel, 
S. F.,and then came by Denver & Rio Grande, reaching 
here October 25th. I lost my old room and am tem- 
porarily settled, as I was not able to go about. 

We had quite a time at Honolulu during the 
cholera scare. We were quarantined twelve hours at 



278 

San Francisco and before we left fumigated. My son 
was quite well when I left or I would not have come, 
but since took a little cruise about the island as a guest 
of the officers of the ''Bennington" man-of-war, and it 

did him much good. Dr. M took charge of his 

practice, Mrs. M went to Japan for three months 

and was charmed. If I could have afforded it I would 
have gone too. That is a trip you must have. Yes, 
we had a jolly evening together. My son moved out of 
that house Jan. ist and went on the next street along- 
side of the Club House. Has a much better and 
a larger and pleasanter home. Is it not dreadful for me 
not to be with him? But living is so expensive there 
and I am not fit to keep house. I feel now farther away 
than I did before going, as I see how long it takes to 
get there; but such is life. Everything I ever loved is 
taken out of my life. I did not stop on my way home 
anywhere. I have had such insomnia and just be- 
gin now to sleep. I owe so many letters, but cannot 
write yet as I once did, but to-night made up my mind 
to answer yours if some others waited longer. I liked 
the people at Honolulu so much and had good times. 
I went twice to the Pali. You remember our good 
drive there? I had a picture of dear old Diamond Head 

sent me as a gift. Consul M lately returned 

from the States with his bride, and Minister Willis and 
wife gave him a grand reception. My son said all the 
belles of Honolulu were out in finest style. They did 
give such pretty receptions. So many came on the 
"Australia" when I did to spend a year in the U. S. to 

get toned up. Lieutenant J has been made major; 

he goes with my son to his new home. It would be nice 



to live in California and spend the winters in ITono- 
lulu. If my son were here he would have several mes- 
sages, as we often talked about how nice you were. I 
am glad we met. I am sure we will meet again some 
time. Good night, dear. 

Lovingly, 

C . 

From Miss C . 



New Zealand, Sept. 6th. 
Dearest Mrs. Robinson: — 

It was the sweetest surprise I received this year 
when your letter came. I really thought you had for- 
gotten us altogether. Next time you write you must 
send me your photo as you promised. I often look 
at your photo on the mantelpiece and wish you back 
again. Never a day passes that I do not think of 

you, because you are always in sight. Mr. H 

keeps travelling up from the South and down again, 
so we see him pretty often. He will be glad to hear 

we have heard from you. Mother and E went 

down to see Mr. F one day when the steamer was 

in and he told us he had heard from you. E and 

I go to the dancing class every Monday, and it is very 
enjoyable, but it will be all over soon now the summer 
is coming on. We shall be very sorry, for it used to 

help pass away the week. I am going out to M 

next Tuesday a week. You remember where I went 
when you were staying with us. 

I think you had better send over a few hundred 
dollars and then we will be able to come and see you 
in your lovely home. It would l)e grand fun. Mr. 



28o 

T comes to the house as usual and wishes to be 

remembered to you. 

We had a Mr. J staying with us not long ago 

and we gave him your address, so you might see him. 
He would just suit you, I guess, because he is very fair, 
with a lovely complexion and very nice looking. You 
could not help but fall in love with him. 

When are you going to take another trip to Auck- 
land? I am anxiously awaiting your return. I sup- 
pose you will come here for your honeymoon soon. 
My mother has some shares in gold mines, so when we 
make our fortune we are coming over to see you and 

then you can accompany us back to A . I would 

like to see your house with you like a fairy in it. 

Believe me to be ever 

Your sincere friend 

G. . 

Do not forget to send your photo, because I want 
you in my own possession to gaze upon sometimes 
when lonely. 



G- 



From Miss C- 



One year later. 

Auckland, May i6th, i8 — . 
Dearest Mrs. Robinson: — 

I am almost ashamed to write, because it is such a 
long while since we received your last letter. I thank 
you very much for those papers you sent me. I found 

them very interesting. We have E married now. 

They were married in April on Easter Monday, at 8 



28 1 

o'clock in the morning-. I expected to hear of your 
wedding- before this and am waiting patiently for 
yonr photo, which yon promised me long ago. We 

delivered your letter to l\Ir. L directly it came. I 

knew the handwriting directly I saw it and ex])ected 

my photo as well. I have not seen ]\Ir. V since 

you went away, but have often w^atched the "Mono- 

wai" come and go from Auckland. Has that Air. J ■ 

called on you yet? I think it is high time he found you 
by now. I hope you won't break his heart, if you have 
broken other hearts before. 

Do you know, Mrs. Robinson, I wTote you a letter 
a mail or two ago and forgot to post it. Was it not clever 
of me? And then I was always going and going to 
write until here I am at ii o'clock writing when the 
mail closes at i o'clock. My mother and I often have 
a talk about you, and we wish you would come to Auck- 
land again. We cannot know too many friends like 

you. E and I had our photographs taken in our 

bridesmaid frocks. You know, E was married 

in the travelling dress, so our dresses are winter frocks 
to match. We have some of the same boarders we 

had when you were here. Mr. H comes and goes; 

he is travelling and is generally away for a month and 
back for three weeks before he starts away again. I 
have not seen Mr. L since that day we saw you off. 

I must now very unwillingly conclude. With best 
love and hoping to have a long letter and photo from 
you soon. 

G . 



2^2 

From Miss C- 



Auckland, Nov. 27th. 
My dearest Mrs. Robinson : — 

I received your most welcome letter some time 
ag@ and have been going to answer it every mail, but 
hare not succeeded until this one. 

We are all going to the floral fete to-morrow and 
I wish it had been to-day, so I could have told you all 
about it. I am sending you the Christmas number of 
our Graphic ; it might be a little interesting to you, and 
with Jt I wish you. a very merry Christmas and a happy 
New Year, 

E IS still living at home. I was simply charmed 

with your last photo; it is such a good one, and by this 

time you will have received E 's and mine. I hope 

you like them. 

The mail steamer has just come in a short time 

ago, so there is plenty of time. I suppose Mr. J 

has not called on you yet. I do not know what has be- 
come of him. 

We had another German who would have suited 
you had you been here and he fell in love with your 
photo. Before he went away he said, should you turn 
up to tell you to wait until he came back. His name is 
Dr. F., a nice fellow; you could not help liking him. 

Auckland is very busy just now with mining, and 
some of the people are making their fortunes, but we 
do not happen to be one of them. Worse luck! 

I suppose you have been to see "Trilby"? We 
went to see it played by an American company, and it 
was splendid, and the opera house was crowded every 



283 

evening they played here. I do wish I were gom^ io 
see you in the "Mariposa." To-morrow she sails. How 
delightful it would be. Wait until we make oar fortune 
at mining and then you will see us all. 

My mother says she will write you by next, and 
if there is any fresh news she will tell it to you. 
I will now close. With love from all I am, 
Your sincere friend, 

G . 



From Mrs. C- 



Auckland, May i6th, 18—. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

You will be thinking we have forgotten all about 
you, but it is not so. We often think about you and 
talk about you. By this mail you will receive some of 

E 's wedding cake and card. The marriage took 

place in the new St. Paul's church on Easter Monday, 
at 8 o'clock in the morning. We had a reception here 
afterwards, and then the happy couple caught the 9.35 
train for Whihoto and were away a fortnight on their 
honeymoon. They are very fond of each other and I am 

sure will get on well together. E was married in 

her travelling dress and she looked very nice. G 

was bridesmaid and E second bridesmaid. 

You will remember Mr. . He took you and 

me for a walk one Sunday down the wharf. 

I suppose we will be hearing of your wedding next 
and you will tell us who the happy man is. I have not 

seen Mr. F for a very long time, and I have not 

seen Mr. L since you left We forwarded his let- 



284 

ters always to him, and I am sure he would be pleased 
to see you back In Auckland, as I am sure he spent 
some very happy evenings while in your company. 
But I suppose you have forgotten all about your old 
friends by this time and have a number of new ones. 

You will remember Mr. H , the Scotch gentleman 

that sat next to you at the table. He is still with us, 

and Mr. T calls to see him quite often, as usual. 

Mr. and Mrs. S are still here, and we always have a 

good number staying here; we like this house better 
than the other. There is nothing talked of here but 

gold fields — there is a boom. G wants to go and 

spend six months with you. I tell her she would be 
spoiled by then, that she would not care to settle down 
after that. 

Now, dear Mrs. Robinson, with the hopes of hear- 
ing from you soon, I remain your friend 

J — • 

We will be better pleased to see yourself rather 
than a letter. I think you would enjoy another trip 
now. 



From Mrs. B . 

Belleville. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Indeed I had not forgotten you, but had given up 
all hopes of ever hearing from you again. I am sorry 
to hear of your loss, but you seem to have been having 
a gay time since. 

You ask me how many little ones I have. Did you 
not receive a photo of my little girl about a year or a 
year and a half ago? I sent one anyway. I have an- 



285 

Other little darling- since, also a girl, six months old, 
so you see our family is increasing. Our home is get- 
ting too small for us. \W' are going to build this sum- 
mer and hope by fall to be in a home of our own. When 
we are nicely settled I am going to send for you to 
come and visit us and hope you will not refuse to 
come. I think the summer will be the nicest, as we 
have a lovely little steam yacht (the prettiest in the bay 
for the size of it), and we could make it much pleasanter 
for you then. 

Mr. B is well, like myself, and we have noth- 
ing to grumble about. I shall be so glad to see you 
again. It will seem like old times. 

You must have had a delightful trip. I suppose 
the steamer you went to Australia in would be a little 
ahead of the "Burnly." Oh! will you ever forget that 
trip? I never will. 

I hope now, you will write again soon and let me 
know how you are getting along. If you have a photo 
of yourself, I would like to see how you look. Must 
close as it is getting late. 

Your sincere friend 

F. 



From Mrs. L- 



Russell Square, London, Dec. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I was so pleased to hear from you and learn that 
you had reached home safely and found all well. \\^hat 
a pity you cannot find your dear little dog. I fear you 
will hav^ to console vourself with M now, and 



286 

I am very glad he is better and that you like him. You^ 

will be sorry to hear Miss has been very ill with 

influenza, but I am glad to say she is much better and 
hopes soon to get out. We spent a very quiet Christ- 
mas, as so many have gone away for the holiday and 
will not return till next week. 

Dr. H was here the beginning of the month, 

and I expect him again about the 7th. You must ex- 
cuse this scribble — I let my housemaid go for a holi- 
day and she has not come back, and it makes me very 
busy. 

A unites with me in much love, wishing you 

a very happy New Year. 

Yours very sincerely, 



I wish you would visit London again before very 
long. Come in the summer and I think you would 
like it better. 



Mangakahia, New Zealand, March 12th. 
Dear aunt Alice: — 

I thank you for your welcome letter which I re- 
ceived last week. I am glad to see you are well. 

You say the ground is white with snow. Here it 
is summer and everything is green. We had such 
lots of peaches this year and blackberries. Fanny and 
I often bathe in the river; we can swim a little. 

We are going to a bible meeting to-morrow night 
about two miles from here. I have a horse of my own 
now — ^jts name is Napoleon; it is a roan color, We 



287 

have a fat pup, a Gordon setter; its father took a prize 
at the last show. 

We will be so glad when you come to see us. With 
much love from all, 

From your 

Dear Niece, 

8 years old. 



From Miss E- 



Brooklyn. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson : — 

I hope you have not forgotten your late com- 
panion of the cabin. I wanted very much to come and 
see you this week, but was only at SufYern a day or 
two. I have got some work to do now, which will keep 
me very much, too much, in fact, occupied; but shall 
try to come over and see you some afternoon and 
chance finding you in. 

Has M recovered from the effects of his voy- 
age? Did you send the tiny doctor something for his 
stateroom? I have been looking around for an idea. 
Of course, you are going to the horse show, being one 
of the "smart" crowd and, of course, I am not, as I 
shall not have time. New York shops are fine and 
goods so cheap that I wonder at Americans buying in 
London. 

If you still remember me, write. 

Yours very sincerely, 

E . 



288 

Brooklyn. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Thank you so much for the kind Httle note. I wish 
I could come out soon and answer it in person, but can- 
not yet awhile manage it. 

They expect people to work like horses in this city. 

I saw that the H had come and gone and imagined 

that some one's heart was beating faster the while. 
But take my advice and do not forget who plies to and 
fro 3000 miles away on the Pacific. 

I am sending you an ''idea." It is easy to picture 
you queening it in a like creation, so I cut the picture 
out — but must suggest that it is hardly suitable for an 
Atlantic or a Pacific steamer. I hope the little bow- 
wow will remind you of the miniature doctor of the 

M . I am in danger of forgetting to redeem my 

promise to him. Would it matter much, think you? 

Keep a tiny corner in your memory for me so you 
won't look too surprised and say, ''Excuse me, but I 
haven't the pleasure, etc., etc.," when I do appear at 

P . 

Sincerely yours, 

E . 



From Mrs. D . 

London, June. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

We arrived here yesterday after a very pleasant 

voyage. I feel sure it has done H good, although 

at times he feels his rheumatism a little, but think the 



289 

salt water baths did him g^ood. He was not sick, but 
I was for about throe days l:)iit was up all the time. I 
cliani;cd my cabin. Went in with an actress; she had 
the best cabin on the ship. We had a lively time. 

Vou remember the young lady in blue those gen- 
tlemen were seeing off. Well, she became engaged to 

a fellow on the voyage. H and I want to thank 

you for the nice time you gave us in New York the 
last day we were there. I am sure it was very kind of 
you, and also to get up at that unearthly hour of the 
morning. Poor Will, how he did look! I felt so sorry 
for him. How I wish you and he had come with us. 
We were very comfortable; the captain and his officers 
were particularly nice and the stewardess was more 
than nice. She looked after us all so well. 

Last night we went to a music hall — enjoyed it im- 
mensely. My friend met us. Think we will stay here 
until Monday, then go home. How pleased they will 
be to see us. You must excuse this scrawl; am writing 

in my friend's office, and he and H are talking. 

The fashions in hair dressing and hats are very different 
from N. Y. They wear a large fringe nearly half way 
across their heads; then they set their hats on that it 
looks too comical for anything — and such large hats! 
But there are a lot of fine women. London is a wonder- 
ful place. 

H joins with me in love to you. Again thank- 
ing you for your kindness, believe me, 

Sincerely yours, 



290 
From Mrs. D- 



London, August 26th. 

My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Dad was delighted with the picture you sent him. 
He nailed it up over the fireplace in the kitchen beside 
New York's prettiest girl. You remember we got it 
with the Recorder. He said he would rather see her 
alive — the one you sent, I mean. Did you see the en- 
closed in one of the papers you sent me. You did not 
mark it, so thought perhaps you did not see it. 

Suppose Mrs. B will soon be going to see you. 

You would look a swell at Mrs. W 's. Am pleased 

you went, because I know you like that kind of thing 
and could hold your own and look as well as any of 
them. 

Should think before this that you had been down 

to New York. Did you call on Mrs. W or M , 

or was it too hot? I hear in New York it has been very, 

very hot. Did you have time to see W H ? If 

so he would tell you about the Brooklyn folks. What a 
queer thing you do not hear from your brother. It is 
getting time you heard, because the time is passing on. 
It will soon be time for you to start, October will 
soon be here. After we have seen you then we will be 

ol¥ to earn some more dollars. A has just come 

in to show me a large basket of mushrooms that he has 
gathered; he gets such a lot every morning. Our 

people are busy with the harvest. H has been on 

the stack two or three days. He is so brown — I think it 
is doing him more good than it is me. 



291 

The weather is somethinjr awful — rain every other 
day regularly; I am cold nearly all the time. 

How is your heart? How does your housekeeper 
get along, also James? 

H joins me in love to you. Hoping soon to 

see you, believe me, 

Yours sincerely. 



From Mrs. D- 



London, Sept. 25th, 18 — . 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

We are staying at my brother's for a few days, so 
your letter was forwarded to me and I have just time 
to write you before the postman gets here. 

You say you are going to start on your journey 
the first week in October, but you do not mention the 
name of steamer you intend sailing on, or if you are 
coming to Liverpool or Southampton. 

If you have time write me directly you receive this 
letter, letting me know that I can meet you. If you 
have not the time to write, telegraph me either from 
Liverpool or London and let us know just where you 
are. We shall be so disappointed if we fail to see you. 
We intend returning to the States the last week in 
October. 

With love, in which H joins, believe me, 

Yours trulv, 



292 
THREE YEARS LATER. 

Erom Mrs. D . 



Brooklyn, Sept. 15th, 18 — . 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

You say in England it is cold, you have to put 
your coat on. Well, here it is just the reverse; it is 
what I call muggy, keeps you in a perspiration all the 
time. 

A few days since it was cold. I was a little sur- 
prised to hear you liked London so well. Have you 
yet found a house to suit you? It will have to be some 
way out of London to be cheap. The places we spoke 
to you about are Erascati and Cafe Monica — the former 
is the one. 

I don't suppose for one moment that is the right 
way to spell it, but that is as near as I can get to it. 

You must have had a lovely time going over. I 
thought you would like that ship. Suppose you will 
come back same way. 

What luck you had at cards! That beats any- 
thing. Even H has better luck than that. I was 

to tell you he has seen about the pictures and woidd 
send them by the next mail to you. 

We have been to all the seaside places this sum- 
mer. They have opened a place called Bergen Beach, 
but I do not think it will ever come up to Coney Island. 

We have our card parties every Saturday night 
and enjoy them very much. 

Flow did vou like the Alhambra? And did you 



203 

fto U) the Pavilion and Talacc. Do tlicy dress in Lon- 
iUm anything like in New York? 

'J^lie hoys wisli lo he renieniherecl lo von, and 

H joins witli nie in hn'e lo yon. lieheve nie, 

Sincerely yonrs, 

L . 



JM-o/n Mrs. I) . 

lirooklyn, X(jvenihcr 2d, 18 — . 
My dear Mrs. Rohinson: — 

Y(jnr kind Utter to hand Satnrday morning. 
Thank yon very nuich ior yonr kind invitalicjn U) come 
and stay a week with y(jn. I am afraid 1 conld not 
njanat^e a week, hnt will he ])leased U) come for a few 
days, if convenient we conld come on Satnrday. Nel- 
son called on ns Satnrday morning. What a hig hoy 
he is. He thinks he will like to go to school; it is, in- 
deed, very kind of ycjn. 

It is too had yon conld not have waited for the 

1 1 U) come lujme in. N'on wonld have had a good 

time. 11 said you looked well and that you had 

such a lovely cloak. Why don't you come over some 
Saturday and have a game with us? We play every 
Satnrday night till the small hours. I usually go to 
hed ahout 12 o'clock and leave the others at it. My 
toothache is hcttcr, thanks. 

The boys join with me in kindest regards to you. 
Let me know ahout Saturday. 

Sincerely yours, 

L . 



294 
From Mrs. T- 



Wellington, Sept. 27th. 
Dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

I must ask you to forgive me for not replying to 

your kind letter before this, but have had Capt. T 

an invalid since May. He had cataracts taken out of his 
eye; it has been a very tedious operation. It has been 
my work attending to him. He is now able to attend 
to his duties, and hope the worst is over. We were all 
very pleased to hear from you and that you are well. 
No doubt your trip to New Zealand did you much 
good. A change of scene and climate is beautiful to 
every one. Another trip would brighten you; it's just 
as well to take all the pleasure you can when you are 
alone. Do you like black servants? The white ones 
here are a great trouble. Have you sold your house? 
You said you intended doing so. You should take 
another trip to New Zealand before you take another 
house, and you will know where to find us. We should 
be very pleased to see you. 

I wish I could be near you — I should enjoy a chat. 
We are very quiet folks, but you would be welcome. 
I thank you very much for your kindness in wishing 
to send me anything from the States, also wishing to 
receive any friends for me. I thank you very much 
indeed. 

I have no likenesses now — will send them when 
we have some taken. I hope the worst is over with my 
husband's eyes; it has been a very anxious time for me. 
You will forgive my apparent neglect of you. 



We have had a very fine winter here. Just now 
everything is looking Hke spring — green and fresh to 
one's eyes. I have been in the house a great deal this 
winter. Are you still having fine weather? There is 
plenty of rain here to gladden the farmers and rather 
too much wind. Wellington is a windy place; it keeps 
up its name in wind — ''Windy Wellington." 

I hope this may find you if you have not changed 

your home. Captain T and my son send their kind 

regards to you. We all felt it kind of you to remember 
us. If you are coming to New Zealand again let me 
know. 

I must close. With love and best wishes from, 
Yours sincerely, 

Jean. 

P.S. — Will be pleased to hear from you. 



Chicago, 111. 
My dear Mrs. Robinson: — 

Your letter of September 25th came duly to hand 
and I shipped you by express on same day the stirrup, 
which I hope reached you in good order. 

Several things in your letter set me to thinking 
(a very little makes people think sometimes), and still 
my thoughts would never have satisfactory result. 
I endeavored to learn from your letter whether you 
considered there was a greater satisfaction in being 
Mrs. Robinson than being Mrs. Hutton, and I vow I 
am in a state of doubt this minute. 

For one thing I am glad to see you are becoming 
economical, or at least restricting expenses, and it is 



296 

plain that you are beginning to realize that matrimony 
has a practical as well as a sentimental side. When you 
sell that team I don't think you will invest in another 
one like it in a hurry. 

From what you tell about inviting the poor young 
lady to visit you I am inclined to believe that with your 
other good qualities you are something of a philan- 
thropist. I would be tempted to become a total orphan, 
poor and friendless, for the same reward myself. 

We have an almost entirely new lot of boarders 

at the hotel now. Mr. and Mrs. W are still there, 

but expect to go housekeeping soon. Mr. and Mrs. 

S have left, and although there are five people at 

our table, Mr. X and myself are the only males, 

there being three young ladies to assist us in forget- 
ting the cares of this life. Are they handsome? Oh, 
no! Homely, just about; two blondes, one brunette — 
two talkers and one decidedly quiet, been married and, 
of course, is suspicious of men. I don't blame her. 

By the way, I hope you have not forgotten the 
little matter of champagne for Thanksgiving. Mr. 

N and I are counting on that to drink your good 

health and prosperity, but if you don't send it, will 
drink your health just the same. 

When you write again tell me all about yourself 
and every one else in whom you think I am interested. 

Yours truly, 

C— . 



297 
New York. Sept. i8th, i8— . 



Dear Alice: 



Your letter to me at Hanover and that of yesterday 
are both received, and the former would have been 
answered before had I not expected to get home sooner 
and waited to write from here. 

I only got back Saturday night from Hanover; was 
very well while there and the weather was fine and cool 
enough to stir about in as much as one felt inclined 
to. There was a cattle show at ^larshfield (really an 
exhibition of all farm products, and races to boot), 
which I attended one day. Got the livery man to drive 
me down with a fine pair of grays. He knew all the 
by-roads and wood roads and took me through some 
of them on the way down. Xext day an old fellow 
who lives on the main road, near where we turned off. 
came up to Hanover and, meeting my driver, said he 
would just give a dollar to know^ who went past his 
house the day before with a spanking pair of gray 
horses. He said they were driving like the devil, turned 
off into the woods and went off down a road nobody 
ever thought of travelling. Guessed they were pretty 

d d well set up and doubted if they ever got to the 

cattle show where they were probably bound. 

So you see the reputation a man gets for grati- 
fying his love of the beautiful and taking a romantic 
secluded road in place of the dusty highway. 

I am glad that Mrs. W concluded to take the 

long drive, and hope the weather will not put a stop 
to it. 



298 

You need not look for mc just yet. Next month 
after all the equinoctial storms and blows are over we 
ought to have some fine weather, and then if I can <;et 
off and you can conveniently take me in for a few 
days I should like to come. 

As to the brandy, you could not have put it to a 
better use than to brace James up for the drive, but I 
will send you a couple of bottles of whiskey and the 
same of brandy to make up for it. 

As ever, I remain, 

Your friend. 




ALICE. 



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